


i wrote this song for you

by oktaviablake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oktaviablake/pseuds/oktaviablake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They didn’t really say it, but she got the feeling that they only needed someone who could sing and look pretty and don’t cause any problem.</p><p>Obviously, she was Clarke Griffin, so they should’ve known better."</p><p>modern AU. Once upon a time Clarke and Bellamy were in a band and semi-in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The intro

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably just say I'm too lazy to proof read anything so there's that. soz

Stupid Times magazine.

Eventually, it all came back to those stupid magazines displayed everywhere.

They used to have them on their house, and Raven hated it. Every time she came by she made a joke about how pretentious the two of them tried to be, displaying that magazine on their living room coffee table, all organised by cover preference and stuff — singers where never on the top, instead, the order was: world culture, politics, and show business industry (they never bought the one with them on the cover, though).

“It's almost like you guys are trying to win some contest for more educated and well cultured couple or whatever,” Raven would say, waving around their flat. “All bullshit, I know how shallow you assholes are.”

They never really mattered to her. Clarke liked them just fine, but it wasn’t her choice to always have one within arms reach around their place. It was all Bellamy. He liked the damn thing. He liked their profound yet simple and bare covers. He liked their writing styles, he liked the fact that one day they could — and had — written about them but yet also about President Obama, and Kanye West and Africa’s problems and their reality.

He liked to read. To know what happened around them, to be able to always say “Oh, haven’t you heard about how Steven Jobs envisioned the iPad to impact the society?”

Stupid smartass.

Now, every time Clarke saw one, she made a point of looking the other way. Once, in a doctor’s waiting room, she turned face down every volume they had and stuck to reading Cosmo instead.

Maybe she was a shallow asshole after all. She didn’t really care.

***

Looking back to it, she didn’t really know how the band came together. She used to post videos of her doing covers on YouTube and tweeting about them like that would get her somewhere.

Then, one day, it did.

She remembers there was a call, and that she thought it was Wells pranking her and hung up on their faces twice before realizing what a moron she was being.

There were also lots of meetings. About their plans for her, about what she wanted, what she felt she could accomplish, and then they dropped the bomb: there was actually a band already formed. She was simply the cherry on the top.

They didn’t really say it, but she got the feeling that they only needed someone who could sing and look pretty and don’t cause any problem.

Obviously, she was Clarke Griffin, so they should’ve known better.

The first one she met was Raven, which, really, was a hell of a mistake. She was bossy, and always right (not that Clarke really ever acknowledged it), and appeared to have only one hobby: making sure everything stayed the same.

Enough to say, Clarke’s arrival made her angry as hell.

“I don’t know why we need someone else on the vocals. Octavia can hold the female part perfectly.” She heard Raven say to their manager, Kane, on the day they met.

It was like she didn’t even care Clarke was standing right there between them.

“Yes, she can. Until she starts a solo and forgets about everything else.” Kane gave her a side look. “We need someone committed to singing. And Clarke also has the perfect voice to complement Bellamy’s.”

Raven snorted, but said nothing more.

Then she met the Blake siblings, and everything just got weirder and angrier.

Octavia seemed torn between happy to have someone take the singing responsibilities from her but not sure if that meant she was getting demoted. Bellamy just shrugged and moved on to messing with his mic stand. But the two of them kept having these silent conversations and arguments just with their eyes that made Clarke feel like she was intruding in more than a band.

Then she met Jasper (bass) and Monty (keys) and they not only made it easier for her, but also provided with some much needed intel on the band and its members.

It all started as a family affair. Apparently, the Blake siblings used to tour around the country doing bar sets as a folk duo, that was until Octavia turned nineteen and learned that an electric guitar is way more fun than an acoustic one and decided to quit.

Bellamy caved and called her back, promising her a real band this time (“Anything to keep her from moving in with her boyfriend and ending up working on his martial arts gym full time,” Jasper explained, adding that “she did learn how to kick some serious ass before Bellamy chickened out, though. So even her funny jokes are now kinda painful.”), which led to them recruiting their hometown friends and previous weed enthusiastic (“They saved our lives, if the band hadn’t come about, we’d probably be back home running a weed farm.”)

“How did they found Raven?” Clarke asked then.

Both of them got quiet for a minute. Looking at each other before cleaning their throats in unison.

“Let's just say business got mixed with pleasure and everything exploded for a couple of weeks.” Monty looked away, clearly uncomfortable, before giving Clarke a small smile. “That's actually when Kane contacted us. Apparently, the record label’s got a kid on social media duty that had be following us ever since it was just Bellamy and Octavia.”

“We,” Jasper gave her what she came to know as his killer smile, or so he liked to think so, “Were big on Tumblr.”

“Oh,” she said. “That's how they found me, then.”

The two boys looked at each other once more, before looking back at her with a matching smile that, to this day, she still had no idea what it meant.

“Actually, Bellamy found you."

***

She had so many questions, like _How did you find me? How did you know I was good enough? Do you think I am good enough? Is this the way you found to auto sabotage your band?_

Instead, she restrained herself to learning him.

Within the first two weeks, she discovered that he always talked about how much he hated coffee, but still drank at least one cup every day before doing anything else. She observed that, even though he always seemed to be on a tug of war situation with Octavia, when she wasn’t looking, his look went from shut-up-and-do-your-stuff to please-don’t-get-hurt, and I-hope-what-I-am-doing-is-right.

That’s what she learned the most while studying Bellamy: that to learn about him was also to learn about Octavia. About her moods and impulses, about how fierce she could be one minute and so silly and funny the next. About how the two of them always seemed to be in sync, like she was the earth and he was her moon, always on watch.

She also learned, the hard way, that talking to Bellamy was completely different from talking to Octavia. Both of them took offence really quickly, but the way they dealt with it, that was what made things hard for Clarke that first month.

“We don’t need that,” Bellamy said one afternoon after Clarke arrived at their rehearsal warehouse with a brand new amp, two weeks after being officially integrated in the band.

“Yes, we do. This is real rad.” Raven approached, a small smile playing on her lips. “It must be worth a fortune.”

They never really talked about the fact that Clarke was rich, but they all knew it.

“It is, actually,” Octavia was now standing next to Raven, who had gone on her knees and was messing with the entries and the back of the thing. She’d approached them so slowly and silently that Clarke actually jumped a bit after she spoke. “Thanks.”

After that, Octavia kept quiet the rest of the day, but threw a few smiles in Clarke’s direction during rehearsal and, when Jasper joked that the amp would be amazing to stay up on and play a few songs, she screamed, “No fucking way in hell, stay away from my baby!”

Bellamy, on the other hand, didn’t speak to her for two whole days.

In the middle of her fourth week on the band, they finally had their first conversation just the two of them.

She was sitting on the hallway floor outside the studio. Her flip flop’s strap had just broken and she was trying to get it fixed with a hair pin, when Bellamy just plopped down beside her and took it from her hands.

“Even I can see this one is a goner,” he said, brows furrowed, examining the shoe in his hand, “Just let it go, Griffin.”

“I don’t have a spare one here.”

He looked at her and shrugged. “So what? It’s just rehearsal. Play barefoot.”

She looked away. How was she supposed to tell him that she grew up with a doctor as a mother and knew how many germs her bare feet could be exposed to, including some really ugly ringworms Wells had gotten when they were kids?

“I don’t like being barefoot,” was all she said.

Bellamy opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped, standing up instead. She looked down, already thinking about what she was gonna do once when he kicked his own flip flops off and looked away.

“Better than nothing,” he said, before opening the door and disappearing into Monty’s complaints and Raven’s drum solo.

Better than nothing indeed.

***

Things got a bit easier after that. She didn’t fear every word that could come out of his mouth with the same intensity and he didn’t look so uncomfortable once everyone left them alone in a room.

It started small. A “thanks" here, then a “can you pass me that mic stand?” to finally the “hey, Raven and I meet every day at the coffee shop two blocks down, you can join us if you want.”

He didn’t say he hated coffee. She didn’t need to fight back that excuse him, no he didn't. It was just an invitation, one she had already made to the other band members weeks earlier, right after Clarke learned she and Raven went to the same place for coffee and started meeting there every day before practice.

It was all fine, really.

Until he actually showed up.

“Well, well,” Raven said with a shit eating smile the morning after Clarke invited him. “Look at what the coffee beans dragged in.”

Clarke, still too much asleep to process anything in its normal speed, raised her head just as Bellamy stopped right beside her, eyes already in mid roll.

“Quit it or I’ll never show up again,” he said.

Clarke was still silent, trying to understand why he was there and why was her coffee taking so long.

“Hey,” she finally managed to say, after he ordered his own coffee and she had already had two sips of hers. “You showed up.”

Bellamy shrugged. “Figured one cup couldn’t hurt me.”

Raven scoffed, but said nothing. The three of them stood around dumping as much sugar as they could on their cups (“Jesus Christ, Reyes, are you collecting cavities?” “Yes, Bellamy, and if you don’t fuck off you’ll be the one worried about your teeth.”) before taking off.

He didn’t show up the next morning, and it was fine. Clarke and Raven flirted with the new barista and managed to get a free cookie.

On the third day they already found him there once they arrived, Raven still all sweaty from her run and Clarke on gym clothes, discussing how conveniently late the blond had showed up to their first run together that morning.

“You’re late,” he mumbled, coffee cup already empty.

The girls looked at each other.

“We actually meet up every morning at 9am. It’s two past nine.” Raven rolled her eyes and looked at Clarke. “It's your turn to pay.”

“She didn’t tell me the exact hour when she invited me.” Now Bellamy was the one pointing at her.

“Nice,” Raven laughed.

Clarke started walking to the counter, not even paying attention anymore. She just wanted her coffee.

“I'm gonna need another one,” Bellamy called out. “Regular latte, no foam!”

On Friday, he didn’t show up again, but when ordering their coffees, she ordered his by mistake.

“Are you taking that to go?” Raven pointed out to Bellamy’s no-foam latte on the counter.

Clarke looked at the drummer, trying to decipher her blank expression.

“I guess I am?”

She felt dumb. It was just a reflex, right? He was there yesterday and she had ordered his, too, so it was only normal that it would stick to her mind, right?

She felt even dumber once they arrived at the rehearsal place and Bellamy had already a cup of coffee on his hand.

“Is that for me?” he asked when she slowly put the cup she’d brought beside his mic stand.

“Well, yeah, I accident-“

“Thanks.”

She nodded her you’re welcome and went to sit by Jasper’s side on the couch while they waited for Octavia to arrive.

It did not go unnoticed when two minutes later an empty handed Bellamy picked up her coffee and took a long sip, looking her way for two second before turning to Raven to ask what she thought about the new design for the guitar picks.

_How did you find me? How did you know I was good enough? Do you think I am good enough?_

***

“I hate the name of the band.”

It was dinner at the Blakes — Clarke, Octavia and Monty were eating, Bellamy was nowhere in sight — and she felt as if she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I'm sorry, I had to say it.”

Two days before that Kane had arrived with lots of paper sheets and talks about online polls and fans and “so this is your band name.”

Kingdom Come was the winner, and half of Clarke felt like there was probably another band out there with the same name and half like that was the most generic pop-rock band name to be invented.

They wanted to be taken seriously. They didn’t want to be featured in pop magazines as the new teen hit.

(Although that kind of publicity would be welcomed, really.)

“Thank God someone said it.” Monty dropped his fork and put his face on his hands. “It sounds like we’re a high school band.”

His voice came out muffled by his hands and Clarke turned to Octavia for assistance.

“He said it sounds like we’re a high school band.”

“Exactly.” She moved her spaghetti around before looking at the other girl again. “Why are you so quiet about it? I actually hoped you’d be starting fires at this point.”

“Believe me, I tried,” Octavia smiled at her happily. “But Bellamy said it wouldn’t change a thing, so he’s been having meetings with Kane since last night to talk about it.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows and with a quick look at Monty came to the conclusion that he was also unaware of that.

“And we didn’t know that because…?”

“Because he didn’t want to get our hopes up just for Kane to say there is no way the name’s gonna change,” she gave Clarke a quick look.

“What?”

“What what?”

Clarke sighed. “Octavia, you’re looking at me funny.” She turned to Monty. “Isn't she looking at me funny?”

Monty only shrugged and looked down.

“OK, what’s going on here?”

Octavia opened her mouth to answer but the sound got muffled by the front door banging open, revealing a happy Bellamy sporting a smile Clarke could swear in her 23 years of age she’d never seen bigger.

“You got it?” Monty and Octavia asked in unison.

“I got it,” Bellamy answered and Octavia was just a screaming blur, running up to her brother and jumping at him, hugging him monkey-style. “I know, I’m awesome.”

“Yes, you are!” Him sisters was screaming, before turning back to look at Clarke. “Hey, princess!” She called. “Don't you wanna know the band’s new name?”

Clarke smiled at the nickname. “Shoot me.”

Octavia was the one who spoke, but Clarke’s eyes were glued to Bellamy’s the whole time.

“Camp Jaha.”

***

Wells Jaha was Clarke’s best friend ever since he had made her eat dirt in the playground when they were eight after she said his toes looked funny. His parents forced him to apologize, he did, she accepted.

"You deserved, though,” he said once his parents were out of earshot.

“Yeah, your toes do look funny, so I guess I did.”

Their grins were as gigantic as their little faces.

Twelve years later, Clarke was in Chicago pretending she’d actually manage to finish her pre-med program and Northwestern when Wells got mugged walking home from his father’s office and died with three stab wounds to his chest.

His father, Thelonius Jaha was the mayor of San Francisco. The news about his son’s death was all over the country so of course they knew about it.

But she also knew Octavia and Bellamy’s mother had died six years ago and that Raven’s father had abandoned her and her mother was junkie as well as Jasper’s mom having acute depression.

The thing was: they all deserved something like that. They all deserved to be honoured, but it was Clarke’s dead friend that got to have a band named after him. She was thankful in a certain way, but she was also suspicious. Because it wasn’t just that the band was named after her late best friend.

But that it was named after the late son of one of California’s most powerful politician.

***

She was meant to talk to someone about it the next day, but then tomorrow turned into the day after and when she realized a month had passed and Kane was talking about their first show and then getting into a tour, maybe into the Wrapped line up, he could do that couldn’t he?

Then, a week into a month of procrastinating a young and short blonde girl entered the warehouse, introducing herself as Harper, Kane’s assistant, and delivered a bunch of sheets containing all of their press.

Just like that, they had to sit down and decide which logo they liked best, and font, and which of the ads didn’t look that silly or teen-y or just hadn't another-pop-rock-band-don’t-pay-attention-to-us-move-along written all over it.

“Okay, little fucker, dinner at our place to choose the least horrendous thing between all these… art. Please stop on your way and bring chinese. See ya.” Octavia waved, her hand clasping half of the papers in the pile and pulling Bellamy by the other arm.

“Oh yeah,” Jasper started after the door banged closed, “It's not like any of us had other plans, anyway.”

Clarke and Raven smirked at each other and Monty threw an empty disposable coffee cup at his friend, then they collected their shit and went to Casa Blake.

 

They all looked like shit to her. The awful feeling of seeing her friend’s name on a piece of paper promoting her and her new friends made her sick. Nothing felt right, they were all either too flashy or too goth, or Jasper liked them too much (and we all know which type of public that would attract).

She was on her third spring roll when Octavia came back from the kitchen with cups filled with water for both of them and sat by her side.

“I think I like this one,” she said to Clarke, pointing at one logo.

It had a wood-y aesthetic to it. Like it was actually the logo of a summer camp program with the two words carved in a wood piece, “Camp" on top in smaller letters, “Jaha" on the bottom, bigger than Clarke remembers seeing that name (at least since Thelonius last campaign, when she was still around for things).

“Too camp-y.” Raven and Jasper said at once and then high-fived each other.

“I like how it gives spotlight to the word Jaha,” Octavia continued and then elbowed Clarke. “Don't you like it?”

Clarke shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well,” the girl gave them all a big smile. “I do.”

“Figured you would.” Clarke snorted under her breath.

Octavia turned around instantly, not missing those words by a beat.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Looking away, Clarke got a glimpse of Bellamy’s furrowed brow before answering weakly, “Nothing.”

“That was clearly nothing. You look worse than when Kane suggested we wore matching outfits on gigs.” Raven squinted at her suspiciously. “What's twisting your panties, princess?”

“Don't call me princess,” Clarke bit back.

There was an awkward beat before Jasper got up.

“O-kay, M-Dawg, pick up those plates, let’s make sure no cockroaches wake up O tonight.”

“You,” Octavia pointed at him, “Don't be gross. And you,” she turned back to Clarke. “I thought you’d like it. What is up with the attitude?”

“What is up with you guys naming the band Jaha and then making it look like you’re doing it for me?” she got up, looking around to find her purse.

She needed to get out of there ASAP.

Octavia got up, too. “We _are_ doing it for you.”

Clarke turned around, purse finally in her hands. “No, you’re doing it for you!”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Now it was Bellamy who asked it.

And just like that, just by hearing his voice asking it, just because somewhere deep inside her she’d expect that the two of them would be at least the ones to understand her side, she snapped. Because they didn’t understand her. Of course they didn’t. No one did.

Who was she kidding, they didn’t even _know_ her.

“Very convenient for us, huh, to have our band name be the same as of the most influent politicians in the country?”

Everyone stayed quiet.

“Shit.” Jasper sweared.

“Yeah. Shit.” Clarke turned to leave. “I’m out of here. You guys decide whatever you want to, I can’t look at those papers anymore.”

Clarke didn’t expect then to call after her, all she heard was the door closing behind her and her heart thumping in her chest at the same rhythm as she hopped down the building’s stairs.

So so so stupid. She was so wrong about them all. Why would she even think they thought about her at all? She was the outsider, the girl brought in because they needed someone with a name to get attention, they needed a blond. A California girl. Someone to just stand there and sing pretty.

They didn’t like her. They knew each other for years and her for just five months. She was nothing. Replaceable. Stupid.

She found her car parked just around the corner and began the eternal fight with the lock because of course the alarm system had broken a couple months ago and sure she didn’t care much until the actual lock became a nightmare to deal with and now the only time she was not rehearsing or dealing with band stuff was after 8pm and how on Earth was she supposed to get her car fixed when she just seemed to have broken her own band?

“Clarke?”

She turned around to find Octavia standing under the street lamp in the corner. Her black hair glowing and her eyes as big as doll’s.

_Don’t look at her eyes, don’t look at her eyes._

Clarke turned back to her car. Why won’t the freaking thing just _open?_

“I understand that you just wanna go, but…” Octavia took a few steps in her direction and Clarke stopped fiddling with the lock. “We had no idea. I mean, seriously, it didn’t even cross our minds.”

“I bet it crossed Kane’s.” Clarke said.

“Who cares about Kane?” Octavia let out a short bitter laugh. “We chose the name because we wanted _you_ to like it. Because we’re glad you’re here.”

Clarke looked down at her car keys, not knowing if she should keep trying or just give up and walk home.

“I know we are difficult to deal with, but before you came we were done. We had gotten signed but were just waiting for Kane to let us go.” the brunette cleared her throat. “We were fighting all the time and everything we played just sounded… wrong. But then you came, and you shut Raven up every time she goes on a mean streak and gives Monty comforting hugs before songs in which he’s got solo because, we never told you, but you just noticed how self conscious he gets about it.”

“You just make us better. I know you make _me_ better, because every time I look at you in the middle of a song and you got your eyes closed, singing at the top of our lungs mine or Bellamy’s or Jaspers problems, you do it so well that for a moment I think they’re yours, too. And I just want to play harder and harder, so you can feel the same. Because that’s what being in a band is. To play a song so good and so well that you don’t even realize we’re not the same person.”

It was only when she looked up at her band mate that Clarke realized she’d been crying. None of them said nothing, just staring at each other, Clarke’s heart hurting and Octavia’s there between them, exposed, daring Clarke not to expose hers.

“I quit med school to be here,” she said. Octavia stood still, but nodded, enough encouragement to keep her talking. “I've been living in a motel room for the last week because my mother found out and revoked the lease with my landlord.”

“Okay,” Octavia spoke in a low tone, taking two small steps in Clarke’s direction.

“And my best friend’s dead, so I couldn’t even call him for help, and I’ve been here for almost six months but I’m still too afraid to call you guys.”

“Yeah?” Octavia was closer now.

Something about the way she moved reminded Clarke of a cat. Or maybe she was the cat and Octavia just didn’t want to scare her.

“And I’m just not used to not waving people by my side and not having a home.”

She was by her side now. Her big eyes making holes in Clarke’s soul.

Octavia closed her hand around Clarke’s, that still held the keys on the car lock.

“We're here now,” she said, tugging gently at Clarke’s hand. “And we happen to have a great couch. Come on.” With another tug, Octavia managed to get the keys out and now held Clarke’s hand in hers. “Let’s go home."

***

That first morning at the Blakes', Clarke woke up to Octavia and Bellamy discussing her in the kitchen.

“Her mother flipped out. Apparently Clarke had dropped out of school and didn’t tell her.”

“No shit.” Bellamy sounded more than surprised. Amused.

Clarke wanted to punch him, but she kept quiet, pretending she was still sleep.

“Yeah. So she told her she’d cut her off if she continued with, and I am quoting Clarke quoting her mom here, ‘This music antics’.” Octavia stopped so they both could chuckle. “Then Clarke said she’d be out of the place within the hour, no problem.”

“And her mom?”

There was a silence. Clarke knew exactly what her mother had said in response to that. She was there. She was the one who listened. Her heart was the one that couldn’t take the cracks already caused by Abby and finally shattered.

Still, she held her breath, waiting for Octavia to continue.

“She told her to make it thirty minutes.”

That was all any of them spoke about the matter. The siblings stayed quiet, too stunned to mutter a word. Clarke counted twenty minutes and pretended to finally wake up. And that was it.

“Hey, you going home?” Now Bellamy jogged up to where she was standing in the warehouse’s parking lot, his backpack hanging from his right shoulder, left wrist with three leather strings tied around it, holding the bag’s strap.

“Yeah, why?” She squinted, looking up to see his face, the sun shining behind his head and momentarily blinding her.

“Want to give me a ride to the grocery store? We ran out of toilet paper.”

She looked at him, confused, recalling that morning’s talk on the kitchen while Octavia made them coffee. “I thought it was Octavia’s turn.”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “But she’s off God knows where with Lincoln and I’m not even sure she’ll be back tonight.” He scrunched his face at that, clearly disgusted by the thought. Clarke bit back a smirk. “So we need toilet paper.”

“Ok.”

There was an awkward beat before Bellamy spoke again. “She took the motorcycle.”

Clarke only smiled. Still waiting.

It took him fifteen more seconds of awkward staring before he gave in. “Please?”

“Hop on,” Clarke said, turning around and unlocking her car.

Once on the store it became clear toilet paper was the least of their problems.

“I think we’re out of tooth paste, too,” Clarke pointed out while they stood in the hygiene section. “And bread.”

“Do we still have coffee?” Bellamy asked when they started to walk to the section that held coffee and other cooking stuff they never used.

“I don’t know, but we better take some.”

“Okay.”

It was weirdly domestic, walking around a grocery store with Bellamy pushing the cart, double checking with her what they ran out of.

_How did you find me? How did you know I was good enough?_

She wished she could just jump inside of his head and have all his thoughts for herself, even if just for a few minutes.

“Clarke?”

She looked at him.

“I was asking if you needed tampons.” Bellamy said, a small smirk on his lips.

Okay, maybe sometimes she didn’t.

***

Clarke was pretty sure she would pass out within the next fifteen minutes.

Everything was a mess. There were drumsticks on every surface, Octavia was screaming and Raven was screaming and Clarke could swear in the three months she’d known them she had never see the two girls even argue, but now they were yelling at each other at full volume and Clarke’s brain was one step away from melting.

Monty was in a corner, hands over his ears, singing at the top of his lungs so he couldn’t hear the screaming and fighting going on a few feet away, with Bellamy crouched in front of him, trying to coax the boy out of hiding.

Jasper was sitting on a makeup chair, earbuds in, listening to music peacefully.

Everything was a mess. And they were due on stage in twenty minutes.

She needed to do something about it. She needed to fix them.

Starting with the easiest, she went and dropped down beside Bellamy.

“Is he okay?” She looked at Monty, who appeared to have calmed down. “Are you okay?”

The small boy nodded and Bellamy looked at her.

“Getting there.”

“Great.” She turned to look at Octavia and Raven. “What are the two screamers fighting about?”

“Encore. Kane left it up to us to decide, so Raven wants Twilight’s Last Gleaming, but Octavia is pressing on Contents Under Pressure, which, I will not remember her, isn’t even finished yet.”

Clarke took a deep breath and got up, walking up to where the girls were.

“Okay- OKAY, SHUT UP NOW!”

Everybody stopped. Even Jasper took off his earbuds to see what was happening.

“We are not singing CUP-“ Raven gave Octavia a victorious smile, but Clarke snapped her fingers at her, “Because it’s not finished and we’re _not_ singing Twilight, beca-“

“Wait, that’s not!”

“BECAUSE,” she cut Octavia off, “We’re singing We Are Grounders.”

No one said a thing, until Monty crawled out of his desk, walking to the middle of the room as if he wasn’t just losing his shit ten seconds ago and said,

“Alright, motherfuckers. Let’s blow some shit up.”

Clarke smiled at Bellamy who smiled back, while Jasper ran over to pile over Monty and Raven screamed that “Hey, that’s _my_ line!”

Fifteen minutes later the crowd was getting annoyed and they hopped up on stage, giving the 4,500 people who had came to the small theatre to see them some static noise and wrong chords, before Clarke laughed at her mic.

“Hello, weirdos, we are Camp Jaha and this is Murphy’s Law.”

***

Bellamy almost broke a mug when Octavia dropped her bag beside Clarke’s and started moaning while walking to join them at the kitchen counter.

“I just wish I could take my whole closet. Why can’t I take my whole closet?”

“Because you don’t need to.” Bellamy poured her some coffee in the mug that almost fell. “Clarke's not taking her whole closet.”

“Well, that’s because her closet’s already her bags.” She slumped on a stool beside Clarke.

“Hey!”

“What? It’s true. Bellamy, stop being ridiculous, pour me more coffee.”

Clarke and Bellamy exchanged a look before he did what was asked and walked around to sit beside his sister.

They drank for a while without saying a word.

“Seriously, how am I supposed to survive 320 towns with just one suitcase?” Octavia moaned again.

“15.” Clarke corrected.

"Maybe I can get Lincoln to take one for me when he comes down to visit.”

Clarke looked, annoyed, to the splatter of coffee Bellamy just spit on the counter, which she’d cleaned just that morning.

“Come again?"

Octavia looked at him. “Lincoln will take my other suitcase when he drives down?”

“No, _Lincoln is going to visit?_ ”

“Don't be stupid, Bell, of course he is.” She snorted.

Clarke walked up to the sink to get the sponge to clean Bellamy’s mess.

“When did we talk about this?” he asked his sister.

“Never, because you’re not my owner. I don’t need to clear anything up with you.”

“You live under my roof-“

“To which I pay half the rent.”

“So it’s only fair that-“

“I'll go make my second suitcase before the van gets here.”

The she got up and left.

Clarke was passing the sponge for the second time when Bellamy snorted, making her look up at him.

“What?”

“Haven't you seen that?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“So?”

She just looked at him. “So what?”

“He's going to visit!” Bellamy threw up his hands in annoyance.

“Yes, he’s her boyfriend. What would you expect? For him to stay away while we tour for two months?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I expected.”

Clarke looked at him with her head crooked, a small smile on her lips.

“Oh, Bellamy, you’re such a big brother.”

Now he was frowning at her. “What? What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, if it was you in a relationship, wouldn’t you want your girlfriend to visit you?”

“Of course!”

“Then there’s that.”

His frown only got deeper. “Don't say things like that, Griffin, I don’t want that guy doing stuff with my sister that I’d do with my girlfriend.”

“Whoa, Bellamy, okay-“ She widened her eyes.

“This conversation sucks.” He mumbled before burrowing his face on his crossed arms over the counter.

The two of them stayed quiet until Octavia jumped out of her room screaming that the van was outside and they should move.

***

 _And in the end_  
_They all disappeared_  
_And all I was left with_  
_Was red smoke and tears_

The last notes of We Are Grounders were still in the air when they dropped their instruments and ran backstage, huge smiles on their faces.

“That was insane.” Jasper was jumping around, his longish brown hair dripping with sweat. “So now what?”

Clarke looked at Bellamy, already standing in a corner talking to girls wearing backstage passes.

“Now we drag Romeo away from the jailbaits.” She pointed to where he was.

Octavia rolled her eyes, before making a scene of her marching to where he stood, grabbing his arm and waving to the girls, “Sorry, babes, we’re going skinny dipping and we need his abs.”

When she came back with him, Bellamy was as red as a tomato, Clarke and Octavia wore matching satisfied smirks and Raven and the other two boys were already halfway to the tour bus.

 

They’d already seen three hairy butts and Octavia's boobs when Clarke and Raven turned to each other only in their underwear.

“What if the lake’s polluted?” Clarke asked.

Raven rolled her eyes. “Just take off your clothes.”

Clark looked down at her panties.

“I won’t look if you don’t look.”

“Don't be such a prude.”

“Well, you’re still standing here with me, aren’t you?”

They stayed quiet for a while.

“Fine.” Raven gave in. “But if I feel you touching my butt, I’m getting a restraining order.”

Clarke didn’t wait for Raven, pulling her own panties down all at once and getting rid of her bra mid running.

Once she reached the water, Clarke braced herself for a cold encounter, just like how it is with everybody that goes skinny dipping, or all the skinny dipping scenes she’d read in young adult novels.

To her surprise, the water was warm. Too warm, in fact.

“Okay,” Raven said once she’d swam to where they stood. “Who peed in the water?”

“No one, you witch,” Jasper splashed her with some water. “Now aren’t you all glad that I had this brilliant idea?”

“Yeah…” Raven rolled her eyes. “So original of you.”

“That’s it, I’m drowning her.”

Octavia pulled him by the arm. “Look, isn’t that a tire, there by the shore?”

Jasper and Monty started to run, trying to see who got to the tire first.

“Kids.” Octavia shook her head. “Hey, no bitting!”

Clarke started laughing, only realizing she’d floated to Bellamy’s side when his hand stopped her before they collided.

“Whoops,” he laughed.

She turned to look at him, the moonlight shining through his curls, obscuring his face, but letting that big smile of his lit enough for her to realize the laugh had hit his eyes, and that his freckles seemed like dust in the dark.

“Sorry,” she laughed back, pressing her feet hard on the thick sand. Praying she’d stay still, for once.

“'S okay.” He looked at Raven and Octavia a few feet away, yelling at the two boys who were now fighting to see who’d swim back with the new found tire. “So we’ve got the next two days off.”

She sighed. “Thank God, we’ve been at this nonstop for two weeks.”

He laughed again.

“So, any plans?”

“Nah,” Clarke shook her head. “Sleep ’til late. Maybe get a hotel room so I don’t have to hear Jasper’s snores for 48 hours.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet now, she looked up to see him playing with the water, making small waves. “We just passed California.”

“LA was crazy.”

Bellamy cleared his throat. “I thought maybe you’d like to drive back. I don’t know. Talk to someone.”

She squinted at him, the warm feeling at the bottom of her stomach disappearing so fast she didn’t have the chance to realize it had even appeared.

“You mean my mother.”

“I saw she’s been calling.” Bellamy was now looking at her. “And you’re not answering.”

Clarke turned to look at Monty swimming back with the tire while Jasper tried to walk through the water with a sore loser face.

She couldn’t talk about this and look at his eyes at the same time. She wasn’t even sure she could talk about this _at all_.

“That usually happens when someone doesn’t want to talk with the person calling. Much less visit them out of the blue.”

“I know it’s not my place-“

“It isn’t.”

“But I know how it is not to have any parents, and… I don’t know it just bothers me when I see someone who still got one of then but tries to push them away.”

It took a while for her to answer. The boys were almost back, the other girls had decided to meet them halfway and were now laughing because Monty had tried to dive and flashed them by accident.

“And I don’t know how painful it must be for you, Bellamy. I have no idea.” Clarke tried as hard as she could not to yell or hit him. Her words were coming out of her gritted teeth and she swallowed a feel times before continuing. “But I do know what it’s like not to have a father, and if you’re so sure to side with my mom, maybe you should ask her first why I’m fatherless in the first place.”

Then she started to walk out of the lake. Not caring if Bellamy and the others now had full vision of her naked back. Not caring when she put on her sandy clothes and she felt so dirty she wanted to cry. Not caring at all.

***

She did check in into a hotel the next morning, and Octavia slept with her in the king size bed both nights, with Monty crashing on the last one and Raven and Jasper joining them for breakfast.

Bellamy never showed up.

***

It was a month into the tour, exactly half of it and they were right in the middle of the country, having a gig in just outside Tulsa.

Finn, the new guy Kane sent in two stops ago saying it was their “Manager" — and who Raven was screwing every nigh everywhere, thanks very much — had just told them they had an hour to get prepped, two bands had been pulled back and they were supposed to get on stage right before sundown.

That put everyone in havoc because two gigs ago they finished and decided — to much of Raven’s happiness — to put Twilight’s Last Gleaming on the tracklist, but the song worked because they managed to distribute to the crowd neon bracelets that they put up during _So when the lights started falling/I held you close and asked/Can you wish on this kind of shooting star?/Can you wish on this kind of shooting star?_

Which clearly would not work. Because it wouldn’t be dark.

“Can we get some paraphernalia? You know, some fireworks and shit.” Octavia looked at her brother.

“Not so close to the show. We had to find a store that’s trustworthy, and get the whole equipment, plus some trial runs…” He shook his head at her.

“Isn't the band before us using some? Maybe we could ask them to let us borrow some.” Monty suggested.

“Oh, you mean the guys who wouldn't let me use their bus’s bathroom when our driver parked us all the way in freaking Brazil?” Jasper snorted. “Don't think so, buddy.”

“What if we just move around the songs?” Clarke stepped in. "We’re going up at 7pm, 7:30 the latest. When is the sun coming down today?”

Jasper pulled up his phone. “8:40pm.”

They all got quiet.

“Okay. We put it as the encore. And pray it’s dark enough so the bracelets will work.”

They all nodded and Octavia and Jasper split up to distribute the neon accessories.

It was so hot she couldn’t even bear using her hair down. She needed some bobby pins to make sure no strands got loose and stuck to her face in the middle of a song.

“Hey, got a bobby pin?” she asked Raven.

“No, but Octavia must have some. Shake her bunk, a few must fall over.”

She thanked her band mate and jogged to the tour bus, almost tripping over two spoons and a mug in the middle of the hallway to the bunk beds, swearing under her breath about having a talk with Jasper.

Octavia’s bunk was the bottom one on the left side, with the pink sheets and teddy horse (she was a unique creature that Octavia). After shaking it four times, Clarke managed to gather three bobby pins.

“Nice,” she murmured under her breath, before taking a seat on the floor in the middle of the bunks and starting to put all the pins up her hair.

“Hey.”

Clarke looked around to find Bellamy standing in the entrance of the bunk area. It was the first time they’d talked in days.

“Hey,” she said back.

Suddenly, she felt as if she was out of breath. The room seemed even smaller, but in a good way, in a way that felt as if she was closer to Bellamy than she actually was.

It was the heat. It made you feel crazy things.

“Just ran into Finn.”

“Yeah?” She had a bobby pin in her mouth, so she took it out and pulled the remaining of her long fringe up, securing it down.

“Kane asked him to get a message to you.” Clarke noticed then how serious he looked. Didn’t he feel the freaking heat? The proximity? Wasn’t his legs aching to take a step forward?

_How did you find me? How did you know I was good enough?_

“About your mom.”

She looked back at Octavia’s bed before taking two deep breaths and getting up.

Trying to avoid his eyes, Clarke managed to squeeze through Bellamy and was almost at the bus door when she heard him calling her back, and didn’t she wanna hear what it was?

No. She didn’t.

Twenty minutes later they were already onstage. Clarke said good evening, or should she say good afternoon?

People laughed.

Bellamy cracked a joke about the sun and the moon making love, Raven hit the cymbals. The crowd laughed again and they launched right into Murphy’s Law.

They were right in the middle of the tour, in the middle of the country, and it was right in the middle of that song that Clarke saw her. By the sound mixing table, hair pulled up, tight suit as if she couldn’t feel the 94 degrees that were hitting her.

Octavia had her small solo and then it was Clarke’s time to sing, so she did, straight into her mother’s eyes.

 _They were yelling for your blood_  
_And when I wrapped the cord around you neck_  
_I really wish you were dead_  
_I really wish you were dead_

Then she kicked her mic stand and walked out of the stage.

***

She couldn’t tell if they kept playing without her there.

The heat and the anger and the world were all crashing down on her that she just kept walking until she reached the last parked bus tour and sat against its tire.

Thinking back to it, they really must’ve finished the set because it was a good forty minutes before she started hearing the first person shouting her name.

She wondered if they had managed to sing Twilight after sundown. If the bracelets worked. If her mother stayed through it all and saw the colourful lights swimming in the crowd while Octavia — Octavia must’ve assumed her vocals, right? — sang about shooting stars and signs of love and, _If there’s anybody out there/Please speak up/‘Cause I went radio silent/And the sun might not come up._

Actually, she couldn't care less about her mother.

The shouts went away after a while, so Clarke just sat back and closed her eyes, promising she’d go back once the bus she was leaning on started its engine. She really didn’t want to die by being run over a smelly tour bus.

“Figured you’d be here.” A voice came from somewhere beside her.

She didn’t open her eyes. She knew who it was. Of course he’d be the one to find her.

“Figured if you wanted to hide, why not go to the freaking bus parked in freaking Brazil?"

Clarke didn’t laugh. They stayed quiet for a while. She wasn’t certain, but she was almost sure he had sat beside her.

“I tried to warn you about it.” Bellamy spoke again.

She opened her eyes this time. “I know.”

“She didn’t stay for the whole set, if you wanna know.”

“I didn’t.” Clarke looked up at his nose. “But it’s good to know. She didn't deserve.”

“Octavia on the other hand might kill you for leaving her hanging there with the whole set to sing.” He chuckled a bit and she shook her head.

“I bet she was all smug because she got to sing His Sister’s Keeper from beginning to end.”

“I guess she was.”

She still wasn’t looking at his eyes, but she could see when looked down at his hands, small, proud smile in his mouth.

Clarke sat back. Giving him this moment. “It's a good song.”

Bellamy only nodded. A few minutes passed before she spoke again.

“How come that’s the only song you wrote?”

He looked back at her now and she tried really hard not to look at his eyes. Not the eyes. One look at them and she was a goner.

“I guess I can only write about permanent things.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll pen my next song when I get married. Or when I have my firstborn.”

“Nothing more permanent than a kid.”

“Nope.” He smirked. “Although O was kind of a daughter to me for a while so maybe I own her another song.”

Clarke barked a laugh. “Talk about feeding her ego.”

They chuckled a while before things got quiet again.  
  
She was starting to trace a plan. She’d talk more about Octavia, make him laugh a little longer, then get up as if nothing happened and just walk back, and that would be it. No one would want to talk about it, not when they were all stuck into a moving sardine can for the next thirty days.  
  
“Clarke,” Bellamy started. She was still looking down. “Hey.” Not the eyes, not the eyes. “Will you look at me?”  
  
He reached out and turned her head so she could face him. She felt like such a cliche moment, but there he was, asking her to look at him, pulling her face so she would do so, and there were his caramel eyes. Two slits of dark gold she could not thank the Philippines enough for bring into her life.

He was a curse and a salvation at the same time, she was coming to realize.

“She killed him,” Clarke said as soon as her eyes locked on his. She felt his surprise, watched as his face registered her words before continuing, “She had an affair with Wells’ father, he found out, so they got divorced. A month after my high school graduation he killed himself.”

His hand was steady on her neck, pressing her to come closer. She didn’t exactly know how, but suddenly she was so close to him she had to talk in whispers.

“She killed him and then I went away to college and my best friend was stabbed to death-“

“Shhh… it’s okay.”

Almost too late she noticed she was almost drowning in her own tears, her whole face damp from her sadness and Bellamy was there but still so far away and her heart was broken, but still beating and beating.

She put each of her hands in each side of his head, holding on to his ears and hair and to him, and he was there and he was real. And he was there.  
  
“It's okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”  
  
His lips were like the brush of butterfly wings, he was kissing her tears and his eyelashes were kissing her cheeks and — butterfly kisses, that’s what they called it, wasn’t it? Butterflies all around — she never thought Bellamy could be so delicate and passionate and she wanted him closer, and closer.  
  
When her lips found his, her mind went blank. No butterflies, no dead parents, no dead best friend, no stab wounds or heart wounds or any kind of pain at all. All she could see were neon lights floating in a sea that whispered about lost wishes and silence and hope, and  
  
_How did you find me?_  
  
_How did you find me?_  
  
_How did you find me?_  
  
_How did you find me?_  
  
“Clarke?”  
  
They broke away, neon lights still in the back of her eyelids.  
  
“Clarke?” someone shouted again.  
  
She opened her eyes to see Bellamy turn his head around, hand on her cheek, ready to answer the caller.  
  
“She's here. She’s with me.” He looked back, down at her. Those dark golden eyes. “I found her.”


	2. The chorus

They rolled around, with her now on top. Looking down, Clarke managed to give him the best smile she had available.

“Now that’s not fair. I feel emasculated.” Bellamy pouted.

“No, you don’t.” Clarke laughed before reaching down and sucking his lips with hers. “Now will you help me and take this damn boxer of yours off? This is not a book, there’s no way _I_ can do it by reaching down _and_ continue to sexy hump you at the same time.”

Taking both his hands from her waist, his upper body arched up; his face fitting in the crook of her neck and smiling into her skin while his arms reached and pulled the boxer down as far as he could. Wiggling the rest out with his legs.

“All done, milady.”

She looked down at him one last time, taking in his reddened face, lusty eyes, swollen lips, and started to lower hers-

“Are you guys having sex in there?” Octavia knocked on the door.

Clarke stopped, eyes widened and Bellamy let himself fall back into the pillows.

“For fuck’s sake are you fucking kidding me, fucking Octavia,” he cursed all in one breath.

“If you’re not, I’m coming in. If you are, I am still coming in so you better cover yourselves ‘cause I’m in no mood for tits and dicks.”

Clarke hopped off Bellamy, sinking by his side on the mattress and pulling the covers over both of them.

“Oh, _she’s_ the one who’s in no mood,” she muttered. “I should flash her just for the hell of it.”

Bellamy gave her a side look. “You totally should.”

“Shut up.”

Octavia opened the door all at once, giving them the full on view of her neon green, floor length dress. Complete with shoulder pads and heart shaped neckline.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Is this a nightmare?”

“Quick, Bellamy, reach out for your baseball bat.”

“I can’t, otherwise she’ll see my penis and start throwing shoulder pads at me.”

“Screw both of you,” Octavia flipped them off before completely entering the room.

She walked straight to the bed and sat at its bottom, patting down the skirt of the dress as if it would make it look less… hideous.

“Can you believe this?”

“No, I still think this is a nightmare. Is there a safe word so that I can wake myself up?”

“Jesus, O.” Clarke sat up, pulling the covers so there would be no boob incident. “Why the hell are you dressed like a shepherd’s wife on her way to a rave?”

Octavia took a deep breath, her whole face falling down. She had, obviously, been crying just a few minutes ago.

“Lincoln’s cousin is getting married on Saturday and one of her bridesmaids got the stomach flu, so apparently I’m the sub.”

Clarke arched an eyebrow. “Really.”

“She said I was the only person she could think of that had the same body type as her sister's,” she said, opening her arms to show how well fitted the dress was.

“Well, it _did_ fit you right.”

“Clarke! You’re not helping!”

“You're dressed like a lemon with airbags, there’s no way to help!”

They stared at each other for a while.

“Freaking Portland.” Octavia swore.

“What does the city has to do with anything?” Bellamy asked.

She looked down at the dress and patted it again before speaking. “It's a farm wedding. She picked this color so that we could be seen in the air shots if it rains.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“Okay, seriously now.” Clarke almost crawled so she could reach Octavia, putting her hand on the girl’s arm until she looked at her. “Are we being Punk’d?”

Octavia shook her arm off. “I hate you.”

“I can’t take this talk anymore. O, turn around, I’m gonna get up, put on a boxer and drink a beer so that I can feel like a man.” Bellamy motioned to his covered body.

“Oh please, I’ve seen your junk so many times I could actually draw it’s ugly details with my eyes closed.” Bellamy got up then and Octavia shrieked, putting her hands over her eyes. “JESUS!”

She waited twenty seconds before considering it safe enough to uncover her eyes. Clarke was laughing so much by then she was almost sure a boob had gotten out.

“Laugh all you want,” she got up and then pointed a finger at her friend, still laughing in bed. “But when I’m wearing this very same dress in your wedding you won’t find it that funny.”

Octavia had already closed the bedroom door when her words were registered in Clarke’s mind and her smiled faded.

Freaking Octavia.

***

Clarke never really got used to the seasons in Portland. Back in California everything changed, but there was always the sun. Winter? Sure, here’s a few dropped Fahrenheit degrees, but stay in the sun and things shall be fine! Have a coat on you and avoid the wind, she used to say to tourists. That was the recipe.

Oregon was different. As soon as Summer was over Fall started to creep up on then slowly, but surely there. Sometimes the sun wouldn’t show up, the degrees started dropping so slowly and naturally, one day you were back at wearing sweaters without even realizing.

And then the rain hit and you would look at the calendar and oh, yes. It’s that time of the year again.

She was out with Octavia when the first real drizzle started.

“Tell me you brought your umbrella,” Octavia asked as soon as they stepped out of the drugstore.

“Er… No?” Clarke gave her a sheepish smile.

They looked around, accessing their options. They could wait it out, make a run for it, or just don’t really care. It’s not like they weren’t used to it. Octavia was born here, living with the constant rain all her life. Clarke had moved just a few months before, but she knew the drill. If she had survived Chicago’s winter for four years, she could survive some drizzle, for God’s sake.

“We can go to the coffee shop in the corner and see if it gets better,” Octavia pointed to their right with her thumb. “These shoes are new and suede, I don’t really wanna ruin them now.”

They power walked to the coffee shop, giggling like two little girls when they tried to make their way through the door at the same time.

Octavia punched the air in a victory gesture when she managed to push Clarke and get in first.

The blonde laughed out loud. “Grow up, will you?”

Octavia just made a face, putting her tongue out in response.

They were making their way to the counter when they heard someone calling their names, turning around to find Finn sitting by himself at a table in the far corner.

The girls waved back and Octavia gave Clarke a side look. “Go sit with him, I got our drinks.”

“Yeah?” Clarke looked at her.

Octavia only nodded, moving up the line.

Clarke made her way to Finn’s table, the only one available, pulling a chair and sitting messily in front of him.

“Hi,” she smiled her greetings at him. “Whatcha doing here?”

He pointed down and she realized he had an iPad in front of him.

“Working on the band’s the studio schedule for the next few months. You?”

She shrugged, trying not to blush. How could she tell him she was just at the drugstore nearby, buying some condoms with Octavia?

“Was on the street, started drizzling, Octavia didn’t want to ruin her new shoes.”

Finn smiled, shaking his head, but kept his eyes on her.

She shuffled in her seat, starting to feel a little uncomfortable. She really wanted Octavia to arrive with their coffees and Finn to go back to his scheduling.

“So. How’s Raven?” she asked, hoping to break the ice. “She told us about her gradma.”

They had held a small birthday party for Lincoln at the apartment a week earlier and Raven had called saying she couldn’t make it. Apparently, her grandmother had taken a fall and fractured her pelvis. Raven had gone and made the trip to Salem to help her around for a while.

It sucked. Clarke missed her a lot. Also, she never knew how to act around Finn when Raven wasn’t there. She realized that might be the first time they had talked just the two of them.

He looked down at the mention of Raven’s name, typing something on his iPad.

“She’s good. Apparently Grandma Reyes is tougher than we thought and is already begging for Raven to leave.”

Clarke smiled. “Well, it must run in the family.”

Finn looked up then and she smiled. He smiled back, slowly. As he was opening his mouth to say something else, the chair next to Clarke’s was pulled and Octavia dropped herself on it, passing Clarke a big steaming mug.

“Honestly, I thought the rain would take at least another week to start again,” she blew a few strands of hair from her face and looked at Finn and Clarke. “What are we talking about?”

“Raven,” Clarke answered, blowing her coffee before trying a sip.

“Oh, yeah, what’s up with _that?_ She needs to come back soon, I can’t serve as the only buffer for Jasper and Monty’s shenanigans.”

Clarke smiled, looking at Finn out of habit, just to see if she was the only one who found Octavia stupidly amusing.

He was just staring back at her. Face serious.

She dropped her gaze and wrapped both hands around her mug, suddenly craving some heat.

***

The tour was a hit.

But so was their relationship.

As soon as a fan’s account on Twitter leaked the first pictures of Bellamy pressing Clarke’s body against a wall in a local pub during a trip to Seattle, things got extremely real.

Before the whole Internet and their bosses knew about their extra curricular activities it was all different. It was fun and hormonal, reckless and needy. They pulled each other together right when they were about to pull themselves apart.

They’d throw things at each other and bite each other’s heads off during rehearsal but then go home to a lot of build up tension that usually ended up with them having to face a nauseated Octavia the next morning.

They’d not talk properly for two days but them Clarke would get an e-mail from her mother or Bellamy would receive something regarding his father — a bill no one had any idea how he’d get addressed to an apartment they had no idea he knew existed — and Clarke would move her pillow from the couch to his room.

They’d talk and fight and have sex, and unravel a little bit of themselves each time. No one needed to know that Bellamy knew every fight Clarke had had with her mother when she was eighteen. Nor that Clarke was the only person who knew that Bellamy had a general knowledge regarding his father’s whereabouts and that there was indeed a slight possibility that he was also Octavia’s dad.

It was fun. No strings attached, great sex, great music and no drama. It was therapy and personal and too real for them to admit out loud.

Until the rest of the world got word of it.

“He can’t make you sign it, can he?” Monty asked one night back the apartment.

Bellamy was in a corner, barking on the phone with Kane or whatever senior person at the record label it was.

“I think they can?” Clarke took her eyes off him and focused on Monty. “Apparently there was a clause on our contracts that said, basically, any relationship between band members would be frowned upon.”

“I guess we should’ve really read those, huh?” He looked at Octavia, standing behind the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen, making mojitos to calm everyone’s nerves. “Did you know about that?”

“Yep,” she answered, still focused on cutting the lemons.

“And you didn’t mention anything?”

She stopped, letting the big knife rest on the cutting board and frowning at Monty. "I had- have a boyfriend and would not date any of you ugly asses even if it meant I got my own reality show about riding horses. Why should I?"

“Well, that’s reassuring.” He fell back on the couch.

“Doesn't matter now.” Clarke lied back beside him, closing her eyes for a moment. It wasn’t supposed to give her a headache, this thing with Bellamy. “If we wanna stay on the band, we need to do it.”

“That sucks,” Monty said.

Clarke didn’t need to open her eyes to know the look he was giving her. She thought she’d been done with pity looks years ago.

“Do you think Raven and Finn had to sign something like that?” he asked after a while.

Octavia picked up two glasses and came over, sitting by Clarke’s side on the couch, nudging her to open her eyes and pick up her glass.

“Thanks,” Clarke murmured.

“He's not technically a band member, but who knows.” Octavia nodded a ‘you're welcome’, before turning to look at her other friend. “I don’t see her signing something of the sorts, though.”

“Guess not.” Monty frowned. “Where’s my mojito?”

“In the counter, waiting for you to go serve yourself.”

“Not fair! You brought Clarke hers!”

“Well,” Octavia gave Clarke a smirk, “She's about to sign a legal piece of paper saying that she’s banging my brother. She deserves it.”

“That.” Clarke turned a bit to look at her after downing a big sip. “Was the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Please don’t get used to it.”

Monty got up to pour his glass of mojito and Bellamy moved his phone conversation to his bedroom, glancing over his shoulders before he disappeared through the door, his eyes staying on Clarke’s for a few seconds before he took another step away and she couldn’t see him anymore.

“Why do you think he’s still on the phone?” Octavia asked. Her glass already empty. “That's such a simple conversation to have. “Hi, I don’t wanna sign this piece of shit, this is my life and I’ll do as I please.” “Well, then your band is legally mine and I’ll do as I please so you’re out.” “OK, send the papers over.” See? Simple. Done.”

Clarke smiled. “Do you even know your brother? Nothing is simple with him.”

“Well, you should know. That’s what got you two love birds in this situation.”

Clarke made a face, but stayed quiet, drinking her alcohol and trying not to think too hard about _singing a paper_ that basically legalized her relationship. She was basically getting married, in the music-contractual word, wasn’t she?

Monty came back with a tray carrying not only his mojito and a refill, but also two extra glasses (full) for the girls (“You're welcome, ungrateful bitches.”). Leaving them paralyzed on their seats for twenty more minutes, before someone else needed to get up to bring more.

Octavia had made another batch and Clarke was on refill duty, realizing how much easier it would be if she simply took the blender’s cup back to the living room. She was halfway back when Bellamy finally came out of his bedroom, phone in hand, face as unreadable as ever.

All three of them stopped to look at him.

“So?” Monty was the one who asked.

Bellamy put his phone in his pocket, scratching his forehead before looking at Clarke. “I guess now we’re officially dating?”

She could feel all eyes turn on her, so she looked down at the mojito pitcher in her hand and raised the cup.

“Cheers,” she said, before drinking right out of the blender.

***

It took everyone three tries on the door before Bellamy stepped up, pretending he was very male and strong, and used his shoulder to try and prop it open twice until he winced in pain and said they should call Kane.

“Sometimes I forget how stupid boys are,” Raven shook her head and threw her duffel bag over her shoulder, starting for the side of the cabin.

Clarke looked at Octavia before following Raven.

“Hey,” Finn called. “Where are you guys going?”

Octavia, who’d stayed behind and was now looking at her nails with such concentration raised her head, making the ponytail she was sporting swing from one side to the other.

“You know,” she said, “Houses in America have these things we like to call _back doors_.”

Just as she said that there was a thump, then a yelp followed by a loud laugher and the front door opened, showing a very satisfied Raven and a scowling Clarke holding her right hand.

“See?” Octavia grinned at the boys before excusing herself and making her way in. “Someone please bring my bags, much thanks.”

“I thought this was supposed to give us a break.” Jasper murmured before using his free hand to pick up one of Octavia’s three bags.

“Yeah. Right.” Bellamy scoffed, walking himself in and stopping by Clarke’s side, looking down at her hand. “You okay?”

“Freaking Raven didn’t wait for me to take back my hand before turning the knob.”

He rolled his eyes just as Jasper and Monty passed by them making kissing noises. “Come on, let me take a look.”

 

It was Kane’s idea. They had been doing lots of radio promo and the news of Bellamy and Clarke’s relationship was causing more fuss than they ever imagined.

They needed to take a break, he said. The EP they had released with the live version of Murphy’s Law and We Are Grounders from the tour was being so well received the record label decided to move up the plans for the making of of their first album.

Now, they were supposed to enjoy the long weekend in one of the company’s huge ass house in the mountains so they could get their creative juices flowing and start the writing on Tuesday.

No one complained, except Bellamy once he heard Octavia got to bring Lincoln along, which led to a very interesting conversation.

“That’s not fair!” Bellamy shouted in their apartment after the intercom ringed and Octavia announced Lincoln had arrived and, oh, he’s tagging along.

“Why’s that, Bell?” Octavia was standing by the door, arms crossed, staring back at her brother. “Raven gets to bring Finn.”

“He’s in the band. Sort of.” He looked at Clarke for help, but she was too busy trying not to be dragged into a Blake fight and trying to fit a shirt into her already-closed bag. “If that’s how it goes, I should be able to bring someone, too.”

“Really.” Octavia’s trademark grin appeared. “Who would be referring to?”

Clarke gave up on her shirt, looking up to her now very much official, with a signed piece of sheet to prove it, boyfriend.

“Yes, Bellamy,” she said, “Please enlighten us.”

The doorbell rang just then and Bellamy threw his hands in the air, complaining about how unfair all that was.

Clarke and Octavia exchanged smiles before the latter turned to open the door.

Now, as Clarke sat on the cabin’s kitchen counter, looking down at her bruised hand being bandaged by Bellamy, she smiled mischievously.

“Guess you’re thinking about how much better it would’ve been if you had brought the person you wanted to. At least you wouldn’t be patching her hand five seconds into what’s supposed to be a _very relaxing_ trip.”

“Who told you it was a _she_?” Bellamy finished with adhesive tape to hold the bandage and then looked at her face in gerenal.

“That’s fair.”

Clarke leaned forward, putting one hand in the counter and using the fingers of the bruised one to trace Bellamy’s cheek.

“With a face like this you could easily attract anyone. Animals, even. Thinking about it, dogs do like you a lot.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

“I mean, otters? They would totally fall for you.”

“Got it, smartass.”

“No. Look. Honestly, if you think abou-“

“Clarke.” He stared back at her, raising his own hand and holding hers to his face. Her smile faltered a bit, surprised she could still feel his touch through the bandage. “Fuck the otters.”

She held his eyes while he held her hand and, after a few seconds, she smiled again, leaning in and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered, eyes still closed, “You wish.”

 

The house had two floors, two bedrooms in each one with the ones on the second floor sharing a suite and the two on the bottom floor sharing a normal isolated bathroom; a huge living room, huge kitchen, and a huge room with a fireplace, lots of books lining the walls and couches that looked so comfortable it turned out to be the only room that actually mattered. Plus, it had a mini-bar.

Still, being away from the city and band activities was enough for them to relax.

Or so they thought.

Clarke was pulling hers and Bellamy’s bags into one of the bedrooms on the second floor when Octavia and Jasper passed by running, getting into the room next door. Seconds later, Octavia let out a winning shout.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked Jasper as he passed by her door again on his way downstairs, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Octavia claimed the other room.”

Ten minutes later, as she began to unpack her stuff to put on the drawers, Bellamy showed up at the door.

“Hey.”

Clarke looked up at him. “Hey. Everything okay down there?”

“Yeah, we’re just making inventory to see what we need to buy when we go to the city.”

She nodded and went back to her stuff. Bellamy was still standing by the entrance, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. Noticing his brows furrowed after a quick look, Clarke put the shirts she was taking out of her bag on the bed and turned to look at him.

“What’s up? Why the long face?”

“So. It’s just- Hm.”

“Bellamy. Use your words.”

That didn’t really seem to help. He kept looking around, straightening up but then leaning against the doorframe again. After a few more seconds of that dance, Clarke was about to turn back and continue to unpack when he finally walked in and closed the door.

“I have this thing I need to tell you?”

She frowned. “Okay.”

“Raven just told me she told Finn and that maybe I should tell you.” Bellamy stopped a few feet away from her.

Her frown deepened. She couldn’t really remember the last time he stood so far away from her like that. Maybe the first month they met?

“What is it?”

“I- Hm… Kind of slept with Raven.”

Something stopped. Clarke was pretty sure it was her mind, so she gave herself a mental shake; she wanted to be fully awake for that.

“You _what?_ ”

“We were super drunk. I was a mess. You say it yourself!” He pointed at her, both hands turned up. “I can’t really be trusted.”

“My _God_.” Clarke growled. She didn’t really care if she was being loud. “I’ve been fucking unpacking _our_ clothes, making us coffee, cuddling! I never cuddle! You’re the cuddler! I’m actually quite domestic now if you count the coffee and the linens, but I _like_ my linens but- You! You make me sign a piece of paper but keep sneaking around fucking _Raven_?”

Letting out the biggest, most sarcastic bark she could, she bent down, picking up the shirts she’d just put on the bed and shoving them back into her bags.

“Look, it was just- Wait.” Bellamy took a step forward.

“You’re such an asshole. Fucking disgusting.” She pulled her bags far away on the bed. He was not stepping close now.

“Calm down, will you?” Now he was the one who had to raise his voice. “It happened like a year ago.”

Clarke stopped. “What?”

“A year ago. That’s actually how I met her. Octavia and I weren’t getting along. Kane was almost backing out on his idea of getting us a band. I went to an open night mic at some coffee shop and there she was,” he said this while still approaching her, slowly, like cornering a small animal, “She was playing with the impromptu band. Helping out the sound. We had tequila later. Then one thing led to another.”

“Then sex?” Clarke made sure this was said in a low voice.

He gulped, but took the last step before standing so close that if words materialized, he’d catch hers with his own mouth.

“Then sex,” Bellamy nodded.

“A year ago?”

He nodded again. And waited.

Clarke raised a hand and punched him on the arm. Hard.

“You fucktard!” Now she was back at yelling. “What have I got to do with whom you were fucking around a year ago? A year ago I didn’t even know your freaking face existed!”

Bellamy winced, but didn’t complain. “So you’re okay?”

“Jesus Christ.” She punched him again. Harder. “Just get your ass over here and unpack your filthy clothes or I might set them on fire just to get back at you.”

“For cheating on you?” He was now smirking and way too close.

She wanted to hit him again, but something went wrong with her brain communicating it to her muscles and what came out was a shiver when Bellamy’s hands held her waist.

“For making me think you were running around painting me like a stupid, cheated woman.”

“I wouldn’t.” He sounded hurt, his fingers pressed down on her and she felt bad.

He was a dick, but he was also Bellamy, and Bellamy was, above all, correct and had way too many morals than necessary.

“I know.”

That seemed enough to reassure him – how they had went from him reassuring her he wasn’t a cheater to her feeling bad about calling him an immoral person she had no idea – because he closed the space between them and the next thing Clarke knew he was pulling back, her bottom lip between his teeth, her body warm and leaning forward, wanting more.

There was a knock at the door.

“Seriously?” Bellamy murmured. “Do they have an app that lets them know when to disturb us or something?”

Clarke smiled, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him back just as hard. Who cared about the door, really? Bellamy’s hand had just slipped inside her shirt when someone knocked again. This time harder.

They separated wearing matching expressions. They knew that knock all too well.

“What is it, O.?” Bellamy barked loudly.

Clarke went for his neck, one hand inside his jean’s back pocket, pulling him flush against her, while she made her way to his earlobe.

“If you two are going to keep fighting like this the whole weekend I’ll petition for you to move rooms!” Octavia yelled back.

Clarke detached her mouth from Bellamy’s skin instantly.

She had already opened her mouth when he looked down at her, confused, “I need to tell you something.”

But before she could begin properly, Octavia’s voice echoed again.

“Yell like that again and I’ll bang on your wall so hard you think I’ll be doing something else! With someone else!”

Fuck.

Now his confusion was gone and he looked truly pissed.

“Message received, Octavia. BYE!” Clarke yelled before the other girl could say something else. Pulling Bellamy’s face so it would be close to hers, his angry eyes locked on hers, she put on the face he always seemed to like the most; lips pouted, eyes not wavering, giving him the right message. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You fucked Raven, don’t give me that attitude.”

“I’ll spend four days sharing a wall with my sister and her boyfriend when I thought I’d be fucking _my_ girlfriend’s brains out without worrying about anything else. I _am_ majorly pissed.”

She frowned. Sounded like a really good plan only Octavia could mess up.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“They stared at each other for a little while longer.

“Wanna start making it up to me now?”

Clarke sighed. “Fine.”

“Good.”

 

“Never Have I Ever” had been definitely created by the devil.

They weren’t sure they could drink the bottles from the liquor cabinet, but when they reached the third day and their final night and had already finished all the alcohol they had bought, there was only one option if they wanted to keep going.

Also, they were already drunk, so everything seemed like a great idea.

Jasper even tried to “cut” Finn’s hair with fire to prove so. (“It is an _actual_ technique, I swear! I saw it on TV. Super simple, it doesn’t even really touch your hair, so stop being such a girl.”)

They should not be trusted.

They drank half the bottles on the cabinet.

“We could fill them with tea and water.” Monty suggested.

Finn half snorted half laughed, “Like they’re not gonna notice that.”

“I wouldn’t.” Monty shrugged drunkenly.

Clarke looked at Raven, snuggled up by Finn’s side. Her hair was down, the way she rarely used it and in the light of the fireplace on the Comfortable Room (how they referred to the room with the fireplace and mini-bar. And liquor cabinet.) she looked more stunning than Clarke remembered.

In an unusual display of affection, she snuggled her face in the crook of Bellamy’s neck. He didn’t complain, rubbing his hand up and down her back, all the way from her lower back to the nape of her neck.

Her stomach did a funny twist.

“Never have I ever…” She heard Monty start, voice drunk and extra amused. “Had sex with anyone in this room.”

“Nice!” Jasper praised and they high fived.

Clarke placed a quick kiss on his skin before taking her face off Bellamy’s neck so she could drink. She was trying to listen to Octavia complaining about the unfairness of Monty’s turn when her eyes caught on Raven again.

_Never have I ever slept with two different people in this room._

She was being immature.

Bellamy’s hand was still rubbing her back. When she finished having her sip, she stood up abruptly, almost losing her balance.

“Whoa there, tipsy.” Bellamy smiled up at her.

He was so damn handsome. And those _hands_.

“I need your help.” Clarke blurted out. “With something. Real quick.”

Someone whistled and Bellamy’s face changed from amusement and happiness to lust and need so quickly she felt something tug inside of her really hard.

As he got to his feet, Clarke glanced around the room, murmuring a “Be right back” and trying not to look too closely at Raven.

Gosh, what was wrong with her?

She tugged Bellamy’s hand, pulling him out of the room and they just about heard Jasper scream “Never have I ever AM HAVING SEX RIGHT NOW!” before crashing into each other in the hallway.

His hands were fast to get under her shirt, one sneaking up to the small of her back, pulling her to him and the other cupping one of her breasts over the bra.

She giggled against his lips. “They can still hear us.”

He kissed the side of her jaw before dragging her by the hand to the downstairs bathroom.

“Get your shirt off.” She demanded as soon as the door was locked.

“Bossy.” Bellamy smirked, but promptly pulled off his shirt, throwing it away. “Now what?”

“Now you shut up.”

Clarke pushed him against the wall both her hands on his pelvic bone, pressing it in. He closed his eyes once she started kissing his neck.

“Don’t leave any marks,” he teased after she sucked a patch of skin a bit too hard right under his clavicle.

“I told you to shut up.”

She sucked harder, pressing her tongue flat against his skin. She was so leaving a mark.

When her hands reached the buttons of his pants, she was pretty sure she’d go crazy if she didn’t suck him off right then.

“Do you mind me skipping the Oh Holy Abs?” When he didn’t answer, she pulled his zipper down, sneaking her hand under his boxers. “Speak.”

“Be my guest.” He crooked out.

She got on her knees before he could finish, pulling both his pants and his boxers down at once. Why did he have to wear jeans and underwear inside the house?

His dick greeted her as ready as ever and she gave him a quick look and smirk, before licking the tip lightly, her tongue only teasing him.

Bellamy took in a deep breath, hand already tangled in her hair.

She smirked as she leaned over, licking him from the base to the tip. Twice.

“Fuck,” Bellamy whispered.

“Shh.”

She held the base of his cock, grazing his balls in the process and he held her hair, pressing it down.

“Clarke,” his voice was now a warning.

She swirled her tongue against his tip once more just because.

“I told you to shush,” she said, and right went he opened his mouth to reply, she took him in.

There was that light, back of neck groan sound from his direction, but she closed her eyes, focusing on his dick filling her mouth, and his hand on her hair, and him, and him.

She tried to take as much of him in as possible, bobbing up and down and using her tongue once in a while just so he would swear her name in that guttural voice of his that was already making her wet.

When he said, “Clarke,” his voice cracking, hand going from her hair to her neck – it was always like that. “I’d pull all your hair off if I keep it there,” he’d said once – she pulled out, slowly, hand lightly playing with his balls again.

“What are you-“ Bellamy started, voice dazed, eyes barely open.

But Clarke had already pulled down her sweat pants, hopping on the sink and rubbing a finger against her clit.

“You coming or what?” she asked.

Bellamy took the two steps that separated them, swatting her hand away and using his own finger to rub her, feeling her wetness. She started to distribute sloppy sucking kisses on his neck, trying to focus at the task in hand.

It was about him. Not her. Not now.

She forgot about that for a minute when he slid one finger inside her. The pool of warmth between her legs making her toes curl and ask for _more._

When he threatened adding a second finger, she took her mouth from his neck and took his cock in her hand, eyes locked on his.

“Inside me. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, out of breath.

She pumped him twice, just so he could grunt again, and hooked both her heels at the base of his back, pulling him to her. He slid a hand to the back of her neck, and she guided him in.

Clarke used her heels to dictate the rhythm, feeling her ass go up and smack back down on the sink. After a few minutes of not hitting quite the right spot, she lowered her heels to his ass and switched the angle, Bellamy saw the opportunity and took over, pulling almost all out and then all in again.

She blacked out for second. “ _There_.”

He leaned over, growling into her neck. She met his movements with her own, and Bellamy sneaked his hands under her, squeezing her ass with each thrust.

She started to come when he thumbed at her clit, and she pressed him harder, making him go faster, and faster, and everything inside her was being tore apart and pulled back together.

His hand stopped playing with her clit and went to one of her breasts. Bellamy never seemed to think he was giving enough attention to her. He cupped her breast, ducking his head down to suck at the soft skin.

“Bell,” she breathed out.

That did it for him. After finishing a sucking kiss on her breast, he held her hips and began to pull out and all the way in and she dropped her head on his shoulder. And Bellamy. It was _Bellamy_.

He came a minute after her, panting hard, eyes blazing and focused on her, like he was seeing her for the first time ever.

When she managed to caught her breath, still perched on the bathroom sink, body covered in sweat, the smell of sex in the air, Clarke thought he could possibly be the sexiest thing she’d ever had.

“Best sex ever?” she asked, pulling him closer and kissing him slow and sloppy.

Bellamy sucked in on her bottom lip, smiling against her mouth afterwards.

She grinned. “Good.”

***

Recording was worse than she thought. They had almost all the lyrics set. The melodies were decided and she’d gone to a doctor and asked about all the ways she could take care of her vocal chords so they could last forever.

She was ready.

Then she came into the studio.

“That guy is _nuts!_ ” Octavia was screaming.

Clarke looked around the sound table, nodding a hello at the technician and producer. Moving over, she pressed the speaker button.

“What’s wrong?” she asked Octavia.

“They fucking changed everything!”

Clarke frowned.

They were recording for a week, just the instruments. Bellamy had been in almost every session, while Clarke was trapped in a room with a songwriter finishing the lyrics for good. That was the first session she was attending.

Octavia was supposed to be recording the backing vocals for Many Happy Returns, laying down the ground so Clarke could start on it later. She was pretty sure she was supposed to pull an all nighter, considering how the label was pressing them to finish it and finish it soon, no matter how many consecutive studio hours it required.

She actually pitied the technicians and the poor producer who’d worked with a pop singer before, famous for her lack of personality and abuse of auto tune.

“What’s she talking about?” She asked Miller, said producer.

He eyed her warily.

“We changed a few things in the last two sessions. We compared your voices to the melodies and it wasn’t adding up,” he said it almost in a whisper, as if Octavia could hear him and come kick his ass. “We switched a few chords, upped the tempo just a bit. The guys said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Of course they’d say that.

Clarke looked at Octavia at the other side of the soundproof glass, standing in front of the microphone, arms crossed over her chest. Standard Octavia pose.

“Play it for me.”

He did it. And then she asked him to play it again. This time she closed her eyes. After the third listen, she fluttered her eyes open and nodded once, walking back to the sound table.

“O.?” she called, the speaker button bright red.

Octavia looked up.

“Listen close, we’re gonna do it like this.”

And just like that, Clarke was co-producing the album.

***

**Octavia locked me out again.**

Clarke smiled at the text and shook her head.

“So, what about the bass?”

“What?” She raised her eyes.

“The bass.” Miller turned to look from the board and the screen, to stare at Clarke. “On My Sister’s Keepers. I think we should bring Jasper in and record the bridge again, just in case.”

 _Wanna come to the studio?_ She texted back.

“Play it again,” she asked Miller.

He rolled his eyes, but did it anyway. She was pretty much sure she’d asked for him to replay it for her at least three other times.

Now she paid attention, feeling the lines and the melodies, thinking about the song, the lyrics and-

“Yeah, it’s best if he comes in again. Just in case.”

Miller made a note in a notepad and moved on to the drums.

**Are you alone?**

_Miller’s here._

_I can take a few minutes off._

“Okay, so here are… the drums.” Miller bit his tongue out and messed with some files.

Raven’s drums for My Sister’s Keeper started playing and Clarke put down her phone.

They listened to it twice.

“I keep trying to find something to complain about,” Clarke admitted after the last play.

“I know. She’s too good.” Miller shook his head and wrote down “No re-recordings for Raven!!!” on his pad.

**I don’t wanna interrupt your super producer moment.**

_Text me when you get here_.

“So.” She looked at Nathan. “What’s next?”

“Monty.”

“Okay, but after that I need a break.”

Miller smiled, “Bellamy’s coming over _again?_ ”

Clarke ignored the heat creeping on her face.

“Shut up and play me some keys.”

 

Clarke closed her eyes, feeling her toes curl and Bellamy’s tongue swirl. She bit down her lip, sure it would bleed later.

 _Jesus_.

A few seconds later, his head came up – a huge grin on his face, mouth still wet.

“Thanks?” she offered, still panting.

He chuckled and leaned in, kissing her hard so she could taste herself on his mouth. Sometimes he could be so sexy she actually felt her panties get wet.

“Okay,” Clarke smiled devilishly after he pulled away, “Now it’s my turn.”

She was halfway down her knees when his hand closed around her elbow and pulled her back.

“Nah, I’m fine.” He kissed her again.

“Bellamy!” She laughed in between kisses. “What, did you just come here to go down on me?”

“I was locked out, you looked tiredly sexy.” He shrugged. “Thought you needed a pick me up.”

Clarke laughed again. “Well, thanks. Now let me give back the favor.”

He held her arm again.

“Bellamy.”

Her voice was louder. Clear. It said his name, but asked _what’s your problem?_

“I. Am. Fine.”

His voice was low. Troubled. It said, _I don’t wanna talk about it._

Clarke pulled up her pants, starting to button it up and turned on the lights of the empty recording studio they were using.

“You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head, looking around for the beanie she was wearing before they tore into the room, mouths everywhere. “Unbelievable.”

“What? Because I don’t want you to give me a blowjob?” He let out a humorless laugh.

After finding the beanie under a chair, Clarke pulled it up her head. Minutes ago she was having a very much relaxed, very much needed orgasm. She did not need Bellamy going all Bellamy-y on her right now.

“Why did you even come?”

He widened his eyes at her, comically.

“I can’t believe you are asking me this. After I went down on you!”

“Honestly, Bellamy.”

“I told you!” He threw his arms up. “I got locked out! Freaking Octavia!”

They stared at each other. Her eyes looking for something in his face. His eyes daring her to call his bluff. Ever since they had become what they were now, Clarke knew there was a piece of Bellamy she would never understand just as there was a piece of her he never would.

Just like sometimes she’d look at Octavia and see something else, see more of her brother than herself, sometimes she would look at Bellamy and see more of something she didn’t recognize. It was more than a past. More than something that happened and broke him. It was him. It was part of his being.

As selfish as it sounded, she sometimes hated how she could not have all of him. How that lost, unknowable piece would always be there, poking its way out, cooling his expression and making her lose him in the blink of an eye.

A whole different Bellamy.

“Maybe you need to go, now. It’s late, Octavia’s probably back.”

She opened the door, stepping out and looking back to see if he was following. He was.

“Whatever.”

They rode the elevator in silence, and then a few more steps until the front door.

“See you back at the apartment?” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Bellamy.”

“You’re the one getting pissed because I wouldn’t-“

“That’s not it!” Clarke’s voice rose up. She stopped, then said, in a lower tone, “That’s not it. It’s just… You can talk to me.”

He frowned. “I know. I talk to you all the time.”

_Not like that._

But she was frustrated and tired. He was frustrated and tired. There was no point in arguing over something she was sure neither of them remembered the reason for.

“Never mind.”

Bellamy was still frowning.

“Clarke.”

“See you at the apartment. Don’t wait up.”

***

“Take a quick break,” Clarke said through the speaker as soon as Raven stopped playing and looked up, waiting for directions. “I think my head is going to explode.”

Raven nodded, taking off her headphones and standing up, wobbly, her knees weak from sitting for too long.

“I should have taken over my father’s store.” Miller put his feet up the desk and used both his fists to rub his eyes. “Your band might kill me.”

Clarke gave him a weak smile and closed her own eyes.

“Even med school doesn’t seem so bad right now.”

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, hearing as the door creaked open and closed followed by the sound of a body hitting the cushions of the couch in the back of the room.

“Did I suck that much?” Raven asked.

Clarke just shook her head, not feeling like she could talk at the moment. Just a few more seconds, she thought, a few more seconds.

“No, we’re just really tired,” Miller answered and Clarke heard the sound of his chair turning around. “It’s our third allnighter in a row. Everything just starts to sound the same after a while.”

Clarke groaned and opened her eyes. “It’s just fucking noise.”

“God.” She looked over to see Raven’s eyebrows raised, eyes going from Clarke to Miller. “You guys really need to sleep.”

The words got in and out of Clarke’s ear and she wasn’t sure she was listening to them. They didn’t register. She wanted to close her eyes again, but if she did so Bellamy’s bed would pop into her mind and she’d feel like crying because. So. Much. Tiredness.

She felt someone shaking her arm and opened her eyes to find both Raven and Miller looking at her with concerned faces.

“I think we should call it a night,” he said, messing with something in his computer. “I think we got everything we needed.”

Clarke just looked at Raven.

“Do you want me to call Bellamy to pick you up?”

Clarke frowned. What time it was? Bellamy was probably asleep, she shouldn’t wake him up. Had he gone pick her up before? Probaby not. She couldn’t remember.

“No, I’ll walk,” she answered, voice hoarse.

“Clarke. It’s three in the morning.” Miller fixed her a look. “Pick up your stuff, I’ll give you both a ride.”

Clarke tried to say she was fine, but Raven was already pulling her up, asking her where she’d put her bag, and was there any other stuff or just this one?

She just nodded. Next thing she knew they were both on the back of Miller’s Jeep, the passenger seat occupied with an amp.

“I don’t know where you live,” she heard Miller say and frowned.

Of course he knew. He was over at least once a week, watching the game with the boys and trying to pretend they knew how to play texas hold’em and weren’t just flipping cards around and yelling at each other.

“It’s fine, just drop Clarke off first and I’ll tell you the way,” Raven said back.

They weren’t even talking to her.

Promising it would be for just a second, Clarke closed her eyes again. This time, when she opened, she was sitting at the building’s hallway, back against the wall, while Raven mumbled and searched for something in her purse.

“Oh great, you’re up.” Raven looked at her. “Where’s your damn key?”

She opened her mouth to say the small pocket on the outside, when the door opened and a Bellamy in just boxers and messy hair stepped out.

He looked down at Clarke. “Is she alive?”

“Barely.” Raven closed Clarke’s bag.

She felt a warm touch pull her up by the arms and then hold her by the waist, pressing her body against his. She sighed at the familiarity.

“How did you know we were here?” Raven’s voice echoed as Clarke’s body was dragged inside.

“Miller called,” Bellamy answered and Clarke pressed her face against the bare skin of his shoulder. “Said you were taking to long and he was afraid you had tripped on the stairs and died.”

Raven snorted, Clarke tried to do the same, but only managed to sigh again. Everything was _so comfortable_.

The moving stopped. She wanted to open her eyes and see what was going on, but it was so hard, so she waited for someone to talk.

“I told him to go home, because he sounded as knackered as you two. You can have the couch.”

Raven whispered a “Thank God” and Clarke felt Bellamy’s arms hold her tighter as he dragged her to the bedroom.

***

It was mid October when a national radio program played one of their songs for the first time, so Raven and Finn decided to throw a party to celebrate it. Or find a nice bar and text everybody to meet them there.

Clarke and Monty were the first to arrive.

“Hey!” Raven hugged both of them at once. “You’re here! Where’s everyone?”

Monty laughed, patting her hair.

“Octavia’s on the phone outside. Jaspers getting a haircut and will swing by later.”

“Haircut,” Raven snorted, turning to Clarke, “Bellamy?”

Clarke took off her jacket, shrugging and waving for the bartender at the same time.

“No idea. Not my property.”

Raven crinkled her nose as Monty moved on to greet Finn with some stupid boy handshake.

“Kind of is.”

“Well,” Clarke laughed, downing a shot of tequila. “You’re kind of drunk.”

“That has nothing to do with anything.”

Clarke was about to tell her to leave her alone when Octavia plopped down on the stool next to her.

“I hate Lincoln. Someone get me some vodka.”

Raven leaned against Clarke to ask Octavia for more details. Clarke picked up the cheap beer she’d ordered – Bellamy was a bad influence when it came to drinking habits. She only drank craft once, Jesus – and twirled her stool, looking at the boys and almost making Raven fall over.

They were by the pool table, as always. Monty was waving his arms around and Finn laughed, nodding and drinking something that looked like whisky.

His hair was and she remembered Raven chuckling while telling Clarke and Octavia how sexy he made her feel after the first time they had sex.

Why couldn’t it be that easy for everybody? Raven and Finn made it look so effortless to be in a relationship, so natural. Even Octavia, who was now about to drink her weight in vodka because of Lincoln made it seem like she didn’t even _think_ about making their relationship work. It just did.

And she thought producing an album would be hard.

Finn looked at her and smiled. She nodded back, turning to pay attention when she heard her name.

“… here doesn’t know where her boyfriend is,” Raven was saying. “Do you know why is that?”

Octavia made a face after sipping her drink, which looked to be vodka and… vodka.

“They had a fight because he didn’t let her give him a blowjob.”

Raven almost fell as she turned to stare at Clarke, her eyes almost jumping from its sockets.

“That was over a week ago, we’re fine,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes, “And it wasn’t because of the blowjob.”

“Why was it then?” Raven asked, looking at Clarke, then at Octavia.

The latter just shrugged, still too preoccupied with her drink to dignify her friends with a look.

“Don’t ask me. They’re always fighting about something, I don’t even know.”

“Clarke?”

She drank the last of her beer and waved for another, completely aware of the looks the girls were giving her, waiting for her to answer.

“It’s just. This is going to sound stupid.” She smiled her thanks to the bartender and curled her hand around the bottle, its coolness making her skin ache a little from the temperature shock. “Sometimes he’s not Bellamy.”

They said nothing, still waiting.

“It’s like sometimes he’s plain old Bellamy, screaming his head off or saying things smart enough only he understands it just to make us feel stupid and then…” Clarke took a breath, sipping her cheap beer that tasted like Bellamy. “He’ll just shut off. Like, you know? Lights out. Like he’s not even there and I’m supposed to be okay with it.”

The two other girls were still quiet, but Clarke could see the look they shared. Raven asked out loud about Jasper, Octavia finished her drink.

“What are you not telling me?” Clarke asked.

It had never occurred her that maybe talking to her friends would provide a new insight into Bellamy. She always thought _he_ was the one who was supposed to allow her to know him. It was so wrong, asking other people about his life. About him.

She wanted to take it back, but Octavia was already twirling on her stool, eyes locking on Clarke’s.

And there was Bellamy. Right there inside her best friend’s eyes.

“It’s my mom.” Octavia took a deep breath and her whole body did it, too. That was also very familiar. “There’s something you need to know about my brother, and I don’t think he’ll like that I told you. But I will. Because I love him. And I love you. And-“

Clarke frowned. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure the whole bar could hear it trying to break free from her ribcage.

_This is wrong. I’m not supposed to know this, this is wrong._

“And what?” she asked, her throat suddenly so dry her voice cracked.

“And I think you might be the only one who can save him from it.”

***

“I think there’s a slight chance we’re not gonna be poor for the rest of our lives,” Octavia announced, marching into the apartment and dropping down on the love seat.

Clarke had her legs on Bellamy’s lap, they were watching Full House, getting ready for the new revival series and comparing how cool Uncle Jesse was and Bellamy _wasn’t_ – at least she was trying to convince him of such. So far, no success.

“Yeah?” Bellamy asked, clearly not paying that much attention to his sister.

“Album’s looking good.” Octavia smiled big.

Clarke couldn’t avoid smiling along. “As long as it _sounds_ good, I’m happy.”

Octavia rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed up.

“Yeah. That, too.” She pulled her phone out of her bag before dropping it by her feet, looking at the time at the screen and then back at Clarke. “Talking about it, how come you’re here?”

“Day off. We can’t all be super producers, super singers _and_ super human beings at the same time.” She pressed her feet down Bellamy’s thighs.

His hands held one of them, rubbing it up and down, his thumb pressing hard at the center of it. Clarke closed her eyes.

“Sometimes you guys get disgustedly domestic,” Octavia made a face. “It freaks me out.”

Clarke felt her face grow hot, and avoided looking at Bellamy. Before any of them could say anything, though, the door banged open again and in walked Finn. Alone.

“Hey,” he greeted them, making a beeline to the kitchen.

The three of them exchanged looks while the new guy opened the fridge. He came back with a water bottle and sat in the armchair across from Octavia.

Finn was not only their manager, but officially Raven’s boyfriend. He was cool it that preppy school way, with his long silky hair and easy smile. He always had something to say about everything, always positive, pointing out that yes, there was a way out! There’s always a silver lining!

It was nice at first then they just grew tired of him. It didn’t make it easier that after Clarke became a co-producer and spent more time in the studio than any of the others, which meant more time with Finn, coordinating the changes and compromising on lyrics choices, she’d become somehow… alert.

He was always nearby, touching her arm after making a comment, holding her waist when he needed to squeeze by even though it wasn’t the least bit crowded. There was also the looks, the way his eyes would stay half a beat longer on her after she walked into a room

She never said anything to Raven, but one day Clarke and Finn were talking and he not only touched her arms (which were already crossed defensively in front of her), but he also leaned in, getting way into her personal space. She frowned and stepped back, about to warn him to back off when Octavia messed up a melody in the recording booth.

Clarke breathed out, relieved. Octavia caught her eyes and held.

 _I’ve got your back_ , they said.

 

Now as he sat in the armchair, Finn took a swing of his water bottle, before turning to where Clarke lied on the couch with Bellamy. She made a point of getting closer to her boyfriend, but her feet were already on his lap. There was no way to get closer without changing positions and making it weird and sudden. Suspicious.

“I thought you were supposed to be at the studio,” Finn said.

He was clearly avoiding looking in Bellamy’s general direction. As if he wasn’t even there. Clarke told herself it was all in her head.

“Day off.” She shrugged. “Nate can do it without me for 24 hours.”

She looked at Bellamy then, smiling at him. He looked startled at her sudden happiness, but grinned back anyways, less enthusiastic but sincere.

“I still think it would be best if you were there. They behave better.” Finn pressed on.

The way he said “they” made Clarke’s hair stand on its ends. She was part of them. What was he trying to say?

“Nah, it’s all cool.” She tried to keep her tone light. Friendly. She was even trying to throw in a few jokes. “We’ve all had a talk about how to behave in the workspace.”

“But still-“

“Dude.” Octavia’s voice rose up. Everyone froze, looking at her. “She’s on her day off, you know what that means?”

Finn didn’t answer. Clarke went back to trying to watch TV, but Bellamy kept his eyes on Octavia.

The episode they were watching ended and a new one begun. Most of them had relaxed again, Clarke had given up on trying to get a foot massage out of Bellamy and sat up, her side against his, his arm thrown at the back of the couch behind her, hand absently touching her shoulder every once in a while.

Ever since they had fucked in that bathroom back in the mountain house the atmosphere had shifted between them. Whereas before they’d be really quiet and kept it to themselves when in other people’s presence, now they were always touching somehow.

Bellamy’s hand behind her chair, her hand on the back of his neck, his hand on her waist, her shoulder, her knees. Subtle, standard boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, but still something they didn’t really feel it was necessary in the first two months and a half.

She allowed herself to relax and even laugh a bit, mocking DJ’s style with Octavia and echoing “How rude!” with Stephanie a couple of times. The second episode’s final credits were on the screen when Finn spoke again.

“I’m going back to the studio.” He stood up. “Again, Clarke, I really think you should-“

“Collins, back off.”

Clarke felt Bellamy’s words more than heard it. His whole body trembled as his voice left it, each syllable vibrating through his body to Clarke’s. Finn looked at him for the first time in forty minutes.

“Pardon me?”

Bellamy glared at him. “I told you to back off my girlfriend’s throat or I’m flying at yours.”

No one said anything as the two boys had a mini faceoff. Clarke looked at Octavia, but the girl was looking at her brother, a proud and expectant expression on her face, waiting for Bellamy to do more.

“Alright,” Finn finally said, putting the half drank water bottle at the coffee table before turning around and leaving without another word.

“Fucker,” Bellamy spat out after the door closed.

Clarke turned her face and pressed it to his upper arm, right where it met his shoulder in a silent thank you. His fingers curled slightly in her hair as a you’re welcome.

“He and Raven broke up,” Octavia spoke, her eyes on his discarded water bottle. “Two weeks ago. Said it would be too weird for them to work so actively in the album and still be in a relationship.”

“Well, he sure made his job to make it be weird _now_.” Bellamy shook his head. “He’s a creep. I don’t know what Raven saw in him.”

“Probably the hair.”

The siblings chuckled.

Clarke tried to push back the weirdness in her chest of knowing Raven had told Octavia about breaking up with Finn. She had no right, the two girls were friends for longer, and she had been so busy with the album she barely even saw Bellamy when they were not recording and they slept in the same bed.

“He starts acting like that with any of you, though,” Bellamy sobered up after a while, patting Clarke in shoulder so she could detach herself from him. “And I’ll fucking crack his skull.”

He started getting up, and Clarke tried to concentrate on his fine behind, but Octavia’s eyes caught hers.

None of them said anything. Bellamy didn’t seem to notice, walking on and kicking the water bottle to the floor on his way to the bathroom.

“Little fucker,” he breathed out, “Couldn’t even use a freaking cup coaster.”

***

She didn’t think he would notice the stools.

That was a lie. She knew he would.

She didn’t think he would mind that much.

That was also a lie, because it was obvious he would.

She just hoped he’d let this one go, for the sake of general happiness.

Clarke knew she was made out when she felt Bellamy’s mood swift right after Octavia started to gather people around to sing Monty’s Happy Birthday before he could actually sleep on the couch and ruin his own birthday.

She pretended not to notice. She smiled and clapped and took pictures with her tongue out. She ate cake and dragged Raven to a corner to ask about Finn and the break up (“I didn’t think you’d care, with so much on your plate,” Raven had said. Clarke wanted to slap her in the face, “Of course I do.”), and made Jasper convince Monty to stay for 40 more minutes with the promise to push their recording session by two hours the next morning.

For anyone out looking in, even Octavia, she just looked like a normal host, taking care of everything because the apartment owners didn’t care enough.

Bellamy was smarter, though. He waited until she started cleaning off the paper dishes to corner her in the kitchen sink.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

Clarke jumped, caught unprepared.

“What are you talking about?” she asked after her heartbeat went back to normal. “Cleaning the room?”

He glared at her, pretending to gather a few plastic cups around and fitting them one inside the other, his voice was still low, but it made her grit her teeth all the same. It was not _fair_.

“You know what I’m talking about.” He threw the cups inside the big plastic trash bag by his feet and looked behind them, at the counter. “The stools.”

“Oh. That.” Clarke felt her throat bob up and down, but still focused on organizing the sink, looking for the little piece of cloth they kept there. “What about it?”

“They’re not the same ones we’ve had for five years.”

She knew this was coming, and even though she kind of understood where he was coming from she still felt it to be such an unfair thing for him to do. He was always like that, laying down secret rules only he knew and getting pissed at anyone who broke them.

Most of the time, it was just him getting pissed at Clarke. Like the day he walked in on her talking to Octavia about taking the couch to change its stuffing and it took her 20 minutes and some yelling and swearing to calm him down.

She was the one who still sometimes slept on it, it would figure she’d at least have her opinion considered.

“Monty broke that one last week, remember? Rehearsing a new move for the shows?” She shrugged, still avoiding looking at him. “I just went to the store to get a new one because we’re three, and there were only two stools, and it seemed unfair to always leave one of us standing.”

“Then why is there three new ones in my kitchen?”

Clarke closed her eyes, trying not to raise her voice.

“They were on clearance. I don’t even know how much they cost.” Another lie. They were clearly expensive; at least three times what the old ones were worth. She knew Bellamy could see that. “Aren’t they cute, though? Just the right shade of red.”

He scoffed, turning around and starting to walk out of the kitchen.

“Bellamy,” she called out in the most natural tone of voice she could muster. “They’re just stools.”

He turned around then, right by the side of the new stools, fixing her a look before kicking the closest one so hard it fell down, cracking its acrylic seat.

“No, they’re not.” He said through his gritted teeth.

Now everyone was looking and Clarke was finally getting mad at herself for putting herself in this situation, mad at him for being so closed-minded. Mad at everyone that kept staring at the broken stool like it was their business.

“Not here.” She said through her gritted teeth.

They ended up at his room, the music outside growing considerably louder, Octavia or Raven wanting to keep the guests out of their personal life. Clarke wasn’t sure it would be enough for them not to listen what was probably about to come, but she appreciated the effort.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she yelled as soon as they got into his bedroom, turning around to push him. “Why do you have to be such a dick? They’re just stools!”

“We don’t need them! We were fine with just two!”

She pressed a hand to her face and walked away, trying not to hit him again.

“They’re just fucking stools.”

“It’s not the stools, Clarke! It’s you!”

She looked at him. At his angry, disgusted face. At the way his mouth twisted as if the words he spoke were too acid even for him.

“It’s you always thinking you can fix things by buying new ones! Oh, we’re not being an united band, let’s buy them a new amp!” Bellamy threw his arms up, voice high pitched and sarcastic, nothing like her own. “Oh, Raven slept with my boyfriend, let me change the cushions on the couch I barely sleep on anymore!”

“Quit it, Bellamy.” She warned.

He yelled louder, going over her words. “Oh, my mom called the apartment three times in a day, let me buy new stools!”

“Shut up!” She screamed. They looked at each other, chests going up and down from the heavy breathing. “That’s enough.”

“I want the old stools back by tomorrow afternoon.”

She curled her lip, disgusted. She was _not_ to follow his orders. He was not her owner, just the guy who got to occasionally hold her hand and fuck her every night.

Clarke walked to the bedside table by the side of the bed she slept on, picking up her keys and sliding one off the ring.

“You want them back? You pick them up yourself.”

She turned back, throwing her storage room’s key at him. It hit him square in the chest, bouncing off and landing on the floor by his feet.

Bellamy didn’t even flinch.

“Nice. Real mature. Got anything else you want to throw at me?” He lifted his eyebrows.

“Got any more stools you’d like to break?”

“Just two.”

She snorted, avoiding looking at his cold eyes, knowing she’d hate him more if she did, and made her way out of the room, banging the door closed as loud as she could.

The next day, after she got back from the studio, the new stools were gone and the old ones were back. She started to scoff, making her way to look closely at them when she realized something else.

The couch was different.

She approached it. It was the same shade of dark blue than before, but the shape was wrong. The arms weren’t as curved, some worn out patches were missing, and there was no light green stain in any of the cushions – she flipped then all over and checked.

The thing was new. Clearly new and clearly different from the last one.

Bellamy had gotten rid of the couch she’d renewed just a month ago and wasn’t even trying to deny it.

She was still examining it when he got out of the bathroom, torso wet, towel wrapped around his waist, hair on his eyes. In other circumstances, she’d take one look at him like that and would jump his bones before he could say “hey”; now it just appeared to have the right amount of calculation.

Bring back old stools, exchange couches, appear as sexy as ever as soon as the girlfriend arrives just like the cherry on top to remind her she’s supposed to be angry at him, not wanting to rip off his towel and have him take her right by the ugly new-smelling couch.

“Where’s the other stuff?” she simply asked.

“Sold it on Craigslist,” Bellamy answered without missing a beat, words already prepared.

She shook her head, eyes fixed on him.

“What’s your problem?”

Bellamy just shrugged. Clarke slept the next week and a half in Octavia’s bedroom.

***

The album was finished by mid November with the release date scheduled between Christmas and New Years.

It was a bold move, but Kane assured them they had a band similar to their style releasing a Christmas album just two days earlier, and that it would help with their sales.

Jasper just shrugged and said, “At least we can say one day that we’ve made a Christmas album. Of sorts.”

Clarke loved Christmas so she didn’t really mind that much. If anything, it only made it all the more special. Everything was good. The album was amazing; Bellamy and her hadn’t had a fight in almost a month, Raven had gotten them a new coffeemaker as an early Christmas present.

All was good.

Clarke should’ve known it wouldn’t last that long.

The day she came back from Christmas shopping and found Octavia standing by the apartment’s landline, one hand still resting on the phone, eyes glazed over and fixed in a distant point, she was sure something bad had happened.

 _Bellamy_ , was the first thing that came to her mind.

“O.” She took of her coat and scarf, putting them on the hanger by the door. “What happened?”

Octavia turned to look at her, and Clarke could see the girl’s face slightly drained out of color.

“I think,” Octavia began, and then frowned. “I think I just invited your mom for Christmas.”

 

Apparently Abby had called because her assistant, Maya, saw in some website that Clarke’s band was releasing their album soon, so she pulled up the phone number that same assistant had discovered for her, and dialed, sure she’d have more lucky of someone actually picking her up if she called the apartment and not Clarke’s cellphone.

Jackpot. Octavia was home.

She’d sweet talked the girl the way only a politician could, scoring down a Christmas invitation and the promise of receiving an early copy of the album, and before Octavia had any idea of what she’d just promised, Abby said goodbye, it was a pleasure talking to you, see you in a week. So there.

There was no point in getting angry with her friend for that. Clarke had lived with the woman for 18 years, she shared half of her DNA with her, of course she knew how hard it was to say no to her mother. That was the reason she’d packed up and flown to the other side of the country, starting to dodge phone calls and making every decision based on what her mother _wouldn’t_ do.

It was completely understandable. That didn’t make it less horrible, though.

Abby had too many events to attend to be able to come down on Christmas Eve, but she did manage to push back enough things to come Christmas day. They’d have brunch, she wrote in her e-mail to Clarke, maybe the two of them could spend some time together while Clarke showed her around Portland and then they’d have a nice dinner before dropping her off at the airport.

She even managed to mention Octavia and _her brother_ (Clarke was sure Maya had told Abby about her dating Bellamy but her mother had chosen to promptly ignore it) could join them for both meals. It would be nice, was the word she said – and it freaked her out because her mother never used the word nice – to get to know her band mates and roommates!

It was less than 24 hours, Clarke kept telling herself. How wrong could things actually go in less than 24 hours?

That didn’t stop her from freaking out on Christmas Eve, already in her pajamas, sitting by the bed while Bellamy pulled down his sweats to sleep only in his boxers. Didn’t he ever feel _cold?_

“We’re clearly heading for disaster here, and you and Octavia are blissfully ignoring all the signs.”

He chuckled, making his way to the bed and sitting on the opposite side. She turned so that her feet were no longer dangling from the edge and crossed them now sitting facing Bellamy’s side.

“I am serious. You’ve seen my mother before. You’ve heard of her.”

“Yes,” he said, pulling up the book he’d been reading from the bedside table and opening it up. “I also know she’s your mother, and 12 hours of faking politeness is the least you could do.”

She crinkled her nose. “Stop being so wise. I need you to trash her with me.”

He sighed, but kept reading.

Clarke looked around the bedroom, the only light on being the one by Bellamy’s side. Everything in here was so cozy and familiar. The hanger by the door, which always belonged to Bellamy but only held her clothes. The bare walls that now held Clarke’s favourite art from a local Californian artist Wells had given her a year before he died that she had to bring and hang on the bedroom because she had to look at it before falling asleep. Bellamy’s clothes all over the floor.

It was hard to admit, but this was her life now, and she liked it too much to have her mother taint it with her cold presence and clipped words.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

Bellamy sighed again.

“I think I’ll just take a long shower and sleep by the building’s entrance so she can murder me first and you and Octavia have a chance to be free.”

Now he looked at her. “What is it with you and your long showers?”

“They calm me.”

Ever since she was a kid, every time her parents would fight, her mother would miss a school event, or other kids would call her names, she’d run upstairs, put the water as hot as it could and sit on the shower floor, letting all her frustration go down the drain with the water, leaving her skin red and clean.

It was the one thing Bellamy and her never fought about, her long showers. Maybe because he was always the one causing them.

“Would it calm you down if I gave you your present now?”

Clarke perked up, now interested, “Yes, very much so.”

“You’re so easy,” Bellamy laughed, throwing his book aside.

She picked it up and folded the corner of the page he was on, before putting it back on the table, watching as he exited the bedroom and came back, holding a small box wrapped in red and blue gift wrap, with small slices of pizza printed on it.

He handed her the box without saying anything and she bit back a huge smile before opening it as carefully as possible. That wrap she wanted to keep.

There was a small velvet black box inside and she gave Bellamy a quick look before opening it.

It was earrings. Small gold earrings in the shape of a stethoscope. She felt something warm come up her chest as she stared at it, at how delicate they looked, how perfect.

She loved them. She loved them so much she needed to say it.

“I loved it.” Her voice was low, sweet. She wasn’t sure what was happening but she kind of wanted to cry and kiss him and fuck him and tell him things she probably shouldn’t. “I really did.”

Bellamy shrugged, face flushed, a small smile playing in the corners of his lips; clearly proud of both his gift and her reaction to it.

“I just thought maybe you could have a bit of both words, after all.”

Cry. She definitely wanted to cry.

Getting up, she made her way to him patiently, analyzing the look on his face. How bare and sincere it was, with so much of Bellamy and yet so much of something else she would never know.

Stopping in front of him, she never took her eyes off of his as she stood on her tiptoes, claiming his lips as hers as she kissed him slowly. Bellamy put just one hand at her small back, but it was enough, because it was him, and she sighed into the kiss, her hand holding him by the neck, her tongue marking every inch of his mouth with her name.

They were both panting when they separated.

“Do you want your present now?”

 

Brunch was surprisingly pleasant. Abby’s connection flight was delayed 30 minutes and she texted Clarke they didn’t need to worry, she was taking a cab and meeting them at the place.

They drove silent and contently to the restaurant. Clarke sporting her new earrings and new scarf Octavia had gotten her that morning, Bellamy’s new watch catching the light every time he took a turn or used both hands on the steering wheel.

“I thought you were going to sex me up!” he laughed after she got back to the room, having ran off as soon as he answered her question with a quick “yes”.

She shoved him the box wrapped in plain silver gift paper. No bow.

“Save the best part for later,” she’d said with a smile.

They left the apartment 30 minutes after the time they had agreed on before her mother’s flight got delayed, figuring by the time they got to the restaurant her mother would be getting off the plane and just a cab ride away.

To their surprise, she was already there when they arrived. Clarke tried not to let the clear sign that her mother was trying to prove a point affect her. It was Christmas.

As soon as she saw them, Clarke felt Bellamy’s hand slip into hers. They weren’t big hang holders, but she welcomed him with a light squeeze. Everything was going to be just fine.

And again, surprisingly, it was. Octavia went ahead and introduced herself right after the awkward and quick mother-daughter hug, and Abby couldn’t keep her smile in, seeing the younger girl’s eagerness.

Bellamy was quiet, but consistent and extra polite. He shook her hand, called her Mrs. Griffin, paid attention to what she said and only spoke when talked to.

It actually made Clarke a little uncomfortable, seeing him so subdued to her mom, as if he was one of the few things in her life she could count as hers, but just her mother’s presence was enough to convert him into an Abby Griffin approved person.

Octavia was herself, which kept Clarke relieved and caused Abby to have this funny twinkle in her eyes the whole brunch. It made Clarke slightly proud, to see her mom look at her best friend like a force to be reckoned.

They talked about the band, and how touring had gone. None of them mentioned the day Clarke left the stage mid song because she’d spotted her mother in the crowd, but she could feel Bellamy’s eyes poking holes on the side of her face.

She asked her mother how was the move to DC and if she liked there. Bellamy asked about her next plans. Apparently, it was the Senate. Clarke wasn’t impressed. Octavia was. Bellamy just nodded politely.

After about two hours, her mother picked up the bill – “You’re our guest,” Bellamy tried to argue. Abby told him not to be silly, they were keeping her daughter safe and giving her a place to live, it was the least she could do.

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek. She suddenly hated her mother with such an intensity she was sure Bellamy felt too, because as soon as they stood, he was back at holding her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

They separated at the sidewalk.

“We need to head back to the studio, anyways,” Bellamy said.

Octavia hugged Abby goodbye, telling her they’d see each other again for dinner, right?

Abby nodded and then shook hands with Bellamy, before the boy turned to Clarke. He had a small wrinkle between his eyebrows and Clarke reached over to smooth it out with her thumb.

“See you later?” he asked.

She just nodded, suddenly aware that her mother was witnessing this very normal but still somehow intimate moment. Bellamy nodded twice, before giving her a quick peck and a last goodbye look to her mother. Octavia just raised her eyebrows at Clarke as she walked away by her brother’s side.

Her lips felt on fire when she turned to face her mother.

The older woman’s face was blank. “Now where?”

Clarke didn’t want to have to talk that much, so she dragged her mother to the Portland Art Museum, and spent the first five minutes of them inside it telling Abby how it was the seventh oldest museum in the United States and how it held Van Gogh’s Cart with Black Ox.

They spent almost two hours just walking, looking at the art and making occasional comments about a thing or two. Clarke had the feeling it was almost around four p.m. when her mom finally looked at her and she knew she wanted to start a conversation.

“So,” Clarke cut in before her mother could speak. “I heard you and Thelonious are moving in?”

Abby looked away, as if burned.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Clarke nodded.

They were making their way out of the museum when Abby spoke again.

“Bellamy seemed like a good young man.”

Clarke sighed. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she spit her mother’s words back at her.

Abby looked at her. Clarke looked back, defying her mother to keep going.

But she was Abby Griffin, and Abby Griffin never backs out of a fight.

“I’m just saying… he seems nice. Hard working. And Octavia is really delightful.”

 _Delightful._ In the almost one year she’d known her Clarke had heard Octavia being described in many different words. Strong willed, stubborn, a free spirit, but delightful was a new one.

Only her mother could call someone delightful and don’t have it sound like neither a compliment nor an insult.

Clarke kept quiet. She was _not_ talking about them. Not with her mother.

“I’m only concerned about you, honey,” Abby said, trying to have her daughter look at her. She didn’t. “You and that Bellamy boy seem very close and I would hate to see you get hurt.”

 _That Bellamy boy_.

Who did she think she was to come flying back into Clarke’s life and question everything about it? On Christmas day.

“You seem very _fond_ of each other. But I worry that-“

Abby stopped walking and talking when they got outside.

The sky was grey, as if the city had decided to show Abby the true Portland. Clarke wished it would start raining just so that this conversation could be over.

“You’re together now, but what about when the band breaks up and you see you have nothing else in common besides music?”

Why she’d let them make her believe this day was actually going to be good? That it would all go down smoothly and end in a very family oriented dinner with goodbye hugs and promises of another visit?

This was her mother. She should’ve known better.

Clarke closed her eyes. Freaking Octavia.

“That’s not love, Clarke. You’re both semi-in love while it’s convenient.”

“That’s it.” Clarke heard her own voice before she realized she’d actually said the words. She waited a few seconds for the guilt and regret to come, but they never did, so she went on, “You can’t come to _my_ city, have brunch with _my_ friends and then go ahead and tell me who I should or should not date.”

Abby was looking at her, but Clarke crossed her arms over her chest and looked to her left, where a teenage girl was looking at a store’s window while her small dog kept tugging its leash, begging for them to keep walking. Keep going.

“You always ask why I moved away from you. It was so I could escape you. This. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

There was a silence and Clarke felt something break and float away. She thought it was a piece of her own heart, but as she looked at Abby she realized that it was her mother.

Away, away.

Keep going.

“It think,” she said, taking a breath and feeling her dry throat ache. “I think dinner’s a bad idea. Maybe you should move up your flight.”

“Yes.” Abby was still looking at her, and Clarke wondered what she saw. If what she saw was her own daughter pleading for her to go away, or if she even saw her at all. “I think I should.”

***

She woke up with a pain on her left side and grunted. Octavia was the biggest kicker in the world.

The night before was a blur. She was sure there had been tequila – there was always tequila – and if her aching throat and presence in Octavia’s bed were a signal, there had also been a fight.

Clarke moved again, getting a grunt in response. It was better than a kick, so she took it without complaint. She pressed her face against the damp pillow – so there had also been a shower, where she washed her hair, which meant things had really escalated – and closed her eyes, trying to remember.

Lincoln had found a new place for his gym. It was downtown, well located, which meant business was going more than well, so they went out to celebrate. Bellamy had put on a stubborn face from the beginning; even though he had grown to see Lincoln more as a friend than the huge older man that was taking his sister away from him little by little, it was still hard sometimes.

Clarke didn't understand that. Weren't siblings supposed to support each other? Supporting Lincoln was supporting Octavia.

It started in the car on the way to the bar.

“Will you keep the long face the whole night?” She remembered asking.

“What? You'd prefer I'd left it at the apartment?” Bellamy shot back, words clipped, humour already near the worst it could get.

“I'd prefer _you'd_ been left at the apartment,” Clarke murmured.

He pretended not to listen. The rest of the drive was as quiet as a tennis match.

Bellamy went to the bathroom after the third shot of tequila, and Raven approached Clarke, asking her what was wrong with him.

She told her the truth: he was being an ass. Raven asked her to do something about it.

“Why would I?” Clarke took a swing of her beer and realized the bottle was empty.

Raven gave her a wry smile, “Because you’re his girlfriend?”

“Well. Yeah.” She frowned. “That doesn't mean I'm his owner. If he wants to be a wuss and suck in a corner because his sister’s boyfriend is making a name for himself, that's his problem. I thought Aurora had taught him better.”

It was common knowledge that you couldn't just throw Aurora Blake’s name around Bellamy and not get a reaction, be it a good or a bad one. But Clarke talked about her a lot with Octavia and had grown to be really fond of the woman who’d fought for her children until her last breath.

Clarke liked that Aurora had raised Bellamy so well he went on and raised his sister to be just like his mother.

So really, she should have guessed. When Raven’s eyes moved quickly to something behind Clarke and then back at her, she should have noticed. She was getting good at this stuff. At the Blakes’ stuff.

Thinking back now, it was all the tequila’s fault.

Raven gave her a warning look as a response (at the time she thought it was just because she was saying Aurora’s name itself), said “Just _talk_ to him”, and walked out.

Clarke only realized Bellamy was standing behind them the whole conversation when she turned around to go grab another beer.

That was the blury part. She was sure there were a lot of ugly looks and tense atmosphere. They probably headed home right afterwards and gotten into a screaming match as soon as the car door closed. Maybe they had broken up. Maybe she told him how sick she was of always going around and around and ending up screaming at each other behind closed doors. Or maybe he went and said that _he_ was done with _her._

Whatever it was, it was bad enough she had slept with Octavia-the-sleep-attacker, and not on the couch.

Her body was getting restless, she'd been awake for too long to still be under the covers. She needed to get up, have a glass of water, pop some aspirins and figure out what the fuck went down the night before and if she needed to find a new place to live. But there was noise, which meant Bellamy was already up and making breakfast.

She stayed put. Moved a little bit more, tried to get comfortable. She was pretty sure sleep would never come back to her body when Octavia’s voice said, from somewhere among the pile of covers by Clarke’s side, “Jesus, just get up already, stop waking me up.”

“O,” she bit her lip. “What happened last night?”

There was silence. And then, “I'm sleeping. I'm not having this conversation right now. Get out.”

“I'm serious.” Clarke reached out and shook the covers. Honestly, how did the girl slept under all of that? “I can't remember a thing. Why am I in your bed? Did I take a shower?”

Octavia was quiet.

“Did Bellamy and I broke up?”

Something moved, and Clarke thought maybe Octavia was in the process of dying of asphyxiation and decided to finally let go of all that fabric. Instead, Octavia’s fist appeared through the covers and hit Clarke’s upper arm, missing her face by two inches.

“ _God_. What’s your problem?” Clarke rubbed the sore spot, her arm in pain. Didn’t Octavia realize she had training in fighting and Clarke _had not_? “Jesus, you’re a maniac.”

“Are you trying to break up with my brother?”

Clarke opened her eyes, noticing she’d shut them because of the amount of _pain_ she was feeling.

“What are you talking about? I am asking you if we’re still together!”

“Do you want not to be together?”

Clarke dropped her aching arm and sighed. Freaking Octavia.

Tired of the situation and feeling her heart racing from not knowing what the hell was going on, she reached forward and pulled all of the fluffy duvets and sheets and revealing a very dishevelled, very hungover Octavia.

“What _did_ happen last night?”

Octavia blinked. “You don’t remember?”

“Would I be asking you if I did? Fucks sake.”

With a over dramatic roll of eyes, Octavia turned so that she was lying on her side, head propped up by her hand, examining Clarke attentively. Clarke hated when she did that. There was so much Bellamy and so little Octavia in such act that it was actually scary and wrong.

“I don’t actually know,” Octavia finally said after a few more minutes. She frowned and it was like her whole body was frowning too. Also a Bellamy thing. Clarke wanted to stop looking at her for a while. “You got all weird and quiet all of a sudden, then I came back with you guys to pick up some stuff to take to Lincoln’s, and…” she trailed off.

And what?

“And what?” Clarke was pretty sure her mouth was as dry as it could get.

“There was something off. Like… You weren’t fighting, but you weren’t talking.” Octavia looked down at the bed sheet and used her free hand to smooth it. “You kept staring at each other in the kitchen and when I said I was leaving you begged me to stay, then took a thirty minute shower and spooned me for the rest of the night.”

Clarke scoffed. “I don’t spoon.”

Octavia fixed her a glare.

“So why did you?” Clarke took her eyes off her friend’s face and looked at her hand on the bed, still absently smoothing the blue fabric over and over. “Stay, I mean.”

The brunette shrugged, “I told you, something was wrong. I was actually afraid if I left you two wouldn’t make it through the night.”

Her tone was light, but Clarke caught a note of something else in it. She wondered if Octavia meant their actual lives or their relationship.

“I think-“ she started, and frowned. It felt wrong, talking about it with her boyfriend’s sister. She was her friend, but she was also Bellamy’s. She was all Bellamy, whether the two of them liked to admit or not. “I think I said something I shouldn’t have.”

The other girl looked up and Clarke felt relieved when she met her friend’s eyes. That look she knew, and was all Octavia. It was the look that said “You are the stupidest person on planet, and I’m way superior, but I love you, so here’s some advice.”

“So? Apologize.”

Clarke bit her lip. “I’m not sure I’m the one who’s wrong, though.”

“Then don’t, and tell him to fucking pull his head out of his ass, because it is not attractive at all.”

There was silence and then:

“You really should work on your vocabulary-“

“Clarke! Get the fuck out of my room and make up with my brother, I can’t take long doses of your Griffin-ess.”

“What?”

Octavia glared at her and started to pull one of the duvets up her head, “Just go!”

Bellamy was sitting at the kitchen counter when Clarke got out of Octavia’s room fifteen minutes later (“Jesus Christ, next time you get on your knees and beg me to stay in I will literally smash your teeth with my fist and tell you to keep _that_ in.” She actually didn’t doubt the girl was capable of doing that, so after much fussing, she managed to get up and out). She glared at his back for a few minutes, wishing he could vanish so she didn’t actually have to do what she was going to do, before she cleared her throat and made her way to him.

“Morning,” she greeted, her tone shy, tentative.

Bellamy only grunted in response. Ass.

Clarke looked at his half eaten plate of waffles and then around the kitchen, picking up a mug in a cabinet and filling it with the rest of the coffee from the pot. When she turned to get back to the counter, his plate had been pushed to the side and was now in front of the seat next to him.

Okay. Okay. She could do that. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d be telling Bellamy he was wrong. The subject and context didn’t really matter; she had to focus on the mission in hand.

She took her time, walking to the stool as slowly as she could. Sometimes, approaching Bellamy Blake was like approaching a cat – make any abrupt movement and you lose him. And the point here was to _get him back_.

A second look at the waffles while she sat down proved them to be blueberry flavoured. Her favourite. Bellamy preferred them plain.

She let out a small breath and sat down, picking up the fork and taking a bite of the food. The waffle wasn’t even warm anymore, but it was still crunchy and the blueberries exploded with flavour as soon as she bit them. Bellamy made things so freaking hard.

“So…” she began after swallowing. She still wasn’t looking at him but concentrating in cutting up a new piece. “About last night.”

Clarke waited for him to pick up from there and say something, but Bellamy stayed quiet. She ate two more pieces of food before taking a sip of coffee and risking a look at him.

He was staring down at his own half filled mug and she noticed how different he looked. It was as if he didn’t really know how to hold himself, to position his body; even his blinking eyes seemed odd, out of sync. Everything about Bellamy that morning felt half filled, half eaten, half there.

“I’m sorry about _how_ I said what I did last night, it was a shitty move and really uncalled for.” She chewed on a little piece of waffle and looked down at the stains on the plate from the blueberries. “But I am not sorry about _what_ I said. It shouldn’t have been from me to Raven, and it probably shouldn’t have been after only God knows how many shots of tequila, in a bar, and calling you a…”

“A wuss,” he finished after she trailed off. Clarke felt her face grow hot. “I believe the word you used was ‘wuss’.” Bellamy looked up and the movement seemed so natural, so full, that Clarke’s face felt like it was about to explode. “There was also something about me sucking in a corner?”

Was he really making fun of her childish choice of words while she was trying to sort-of, kind-of, half-heartily apologize?

He _was_ a wuss.

Clarke stabbed a piece of waffle with, maybe, too much force. “Yeah, you’re making a real good case for yourself right now. Keep it up.”

Bellamy shook his head and gulped his coffee. They stayed like that for a few more seconds, him pretending to like his now-probably-cold coffee, her chewing with such a force her teeth were about to crack.

“What I was- am trying to say is,” Clarke began again after the silence turned out to be too much. “I don’t apologize for what I was trying to say, not now. Before. Yesterday. Because, look, Bellamy, I wasn’t wrong. And don’t even give me that look, because you’re a wuss, yes, and honestly, an asshole, and a dick, and you keep doing these things that are so-“

“You were right.”

Clarke was trying not to think of more offensive words to call him and stay in task. Focus on the plan. The plan to prove him wrong. To-

_What?_

“What?”

He wouldn’t look at her, but she already expected that. If he was really being sincere, he would avoid her eyes at all costs. Bellamy hated being vulnerable.

“Last night. You were right. I’m not- I wasn’t-“ he shook his head. Pressing his lips together and looking at the fridge on the other side of the counter.

He was squinting and his body was so tense his shoulders were frozen in place, raised. She remembered the time he saw one of Lincoln’s classes and spent the whole day acting like a robot, like his whole body hurt from blocking the images of what his potentially brother-in-law could do with his bare hands. What the person next to Octavia could do in the blink of an eye, after just, maybe, a word said in the wrong tone.

Who was he afraid to hurt now? Clarke? Himself?

“I’m not the man my mother raised me to be.” His lips were almost white and Clarke reached for his hands holding the mug, covering one of them with one of hers. He didn’t move, but she felt his body ease. “I’m sorry I’m too much of a dick and not enough of a real man, like she wanted me to be.”

There was a lump in her throat all of sudden, pressing and pressing and hurting. It was the strangest thing, like it wasn’t _her_ lump but his, like it wasn’t her pain. Right?

“You,” she said, a smile creeping on her lips, “Are the right amount of dick.”

“God,” Octavia’s voice echoed and they both turned to see her standing right behind them, just as hungover and angry looking as Clarke had left her minutes before. “The next time you pseudo fight and beg me to stay the night, please don’t have me waking up to know how just right my brother’s dick is.” She just shook her head, making a beeline for the coffeemaker. “Gross. Also: make some fucking coffee, I’m dying here and it’s all your fault.”

Clarke crept a look at Bellamy. He was finally looking at her, shoulders down.

***

One day, Clarke was driving back from her storage space with Raven, after a quick trip to retrieve all the boxes that had “linen” written on them (four in total. Raven shook her head and muttered something under her breath that sounded to Clarke very similar to “Rich people. Go figure.”) when Bellamy called.

They had been official for a couple of weeks. Even scoring attention from some music websites and ranking 7º in Billboard’s New Hottest Musical Couple (Octavia had it framed and hanging on their living room wall, “What? We should be proud of that! Someone think both of you are hot at the same time! Enjoy while it lasts.”) and getting way too much attention on the streets than before.

But they weren’t _that_ type of couple. They didn’t call each other that much, they were together almost 24/7, so when they were not talking face to face, they were texting each other about toilet paper and broccoli and Freaking Octavia locking them out of the apartment.

That said, Clarke actually thought something was on fire when Bellamy’s name popped on the car’s stereo, cutting out the Dashboard Confessional song they were listening to and replacing it with the default iPhone ringtone.

Raven looked at her. “You didn’t even give him a different ringtone?”

Clarke rolled her eyes before pushing the button on her wheel.

“Yeah?” she answered.

“So, Octavia was telling me something interesting today,” Bellamy started.

Raven stayed quiet, but kept her eyes going from Clarke to the radio, not bothering to pretend she wasn't listening and listening closely.

“Okay…”

“About Lincoln getting a new apartment that, _apparently,_ is waaaay too big for just him and his enormous muscles.”

Clarke grinned. “Well, his muscles _are_ enormous. I see his problem.”

“Then she was like “Yeah. So. I’m gonna drag all my bunch of useless stuff and live with him so he can put more stuff into his new place!” Bellamy stopped short. “Okay, that sounded awful and with a terrible double meaning.”

Clarke laughed.

“So after I told what a blessing that was and she better not be thinking about babies as a way of populating his apartment, her moving out was fine really.” He stopped again just as the car reached a red light. “So. You know. Now _this_ apartment is kind of mostly empty. And there’s only the two of us.”

“Well, that _is_ interesting.” Clarke smiled. Raven suddenly looked away, out of her window.

“So I was thinking, you know… Since you’re already on your storage unit.” She didn’t correct him to tell that she was actually on her way back. “You could, I don’t know. Bring some of your stuff here? Populate our apartment?”

 _Our apartment_.

Raven was still examining passerby’s with extreme interest.

“Okay,” she answered simply.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Silence. “Cool. See you later, then?”

“Sure.” The light turned green and Clarke looked both ways before making a U turn. “See you at home.”

***

Sometimes, if things got really quiet and the day was uneventful, Clarke still believed Wells was alive. It wasn’t really she believing in him being alive as much as she forgetting about him being dead.

It was like her brain tricked her into believing that he was still there, one phone call away; like her mind not being able to accept that he no longer walked the same ground as her or breathed the same air. Like him _not living_ was such a ridiculous concept she couldn’t really wrap her mind around it, so when things got quiet and easy and uncomplicated, she allowed herself to forget.

One day she was reading the recipe for bread pudding standing over the kitchen island, her right feet resting against her left knee, her legs forming a number four, when Octavia barged in with Monty, discussing something about knew amps and knew chords.

They were in the middle of the process of recording their first album, the hype and success of their first EP and single still high in their bloodstreams. The tour had been over for a few weeks, the light summer breeze still making their body accumulate that light layer of sweat, making them super aware of how uncomfortable any movement was.

Clarke had spent the last week singing the vocals for three of the fourteen songs in the tracklist, so they were giving her a day off so she could rest her voice strings and also their nerves – it was incredible how tense the recording booth could get when both Bellamy _and_ Clarke were there; like messing up even one chord could get the others killed. Or grounded.

“Hey, what do you have there?” Octavia asked, entering the kitchen and making a bee line to the fridge. “Clarke?”

Clarke’s head snapped up, her attention broken from the amount of flour and milk she’d need to use and, honestly, she wasn’t even sure she could boil an egg, much less bake a pudding. This was a ridiculous and pointless attempt.

“Huh?”

Octavia grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and made a face, walking until she was standing by the blonde’s side.

“Is that a new song?”

Clarke looked down at the sheet lying in front of them. “Oh. No. I was just thinking about baking a bread pudding for Wells.”

There was a second of silence, and then she could feel her body growing cold and Octavia’s attempt of _not_ touching her.

“I mean-“ she breathed out, closing her eyes. It was 2015. Wells was dead. She was in a band. Octavia. Raven. Bellamy. Bellamy. “It was his favorite, so I thought it would be nice to bake it.”

She risked a glance and saw that Octavia was actually looking out, at where Monty stood, crouching by the window and trying to get the neighbor’s cat to come over.

Something about the way she stood seemed slightly wrong to Clarke. Like her posture wasn’t as right as before, like that always present confidence had gone out for a while, taking a break from all the day-to-day work.

“Is it any good?” Clarke looked up. Octavia still had her eyes looking forward, but now her lips were moving, “The pudding?”

“It was.” Clarke found Monty by the window. He had a silly face on; his tongue clicking in a rhythm she was pretty sure would scare the cat before drawing it to the apartment. “It really was.”

Octavia only nodded, her hand reaching out to touch the pendant hanging from the thing gold necklace around her neck.

 

It was later that night, after Bellamy came home from the studio and Clarke was at the counter eating pudding that she looked down at her phone to see the time and registered what day it was.

“Hey,” he greeted her, pulling up a chair and sitting by her side, letting out a long breath. “What’s that?”

She looked at his tired face. “Pudding. Want some?”

He nodded, but instead of getting up, he reached out and took the spoon out of her hand, serving himself off her plate. Letting out another sigh, Bellamy nodded his head.

“This. Good.”

Clarke chuckled and let him have the rest of it.

“So,” he said after a while. “Octavia called me earlier.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded again, this time slower, careful.

“She actually told me you were baking this.”

 _Oh,_ Clarke thought, _freaking Octavia_.

“It’s nothing, really.” She looked away. “I just get confused sometimes. I guess- I was just tired.”

Bellamy nodded for the third time. She was starting to get irritated. What’s with all the nodding?

“Still, I went on the Internet and checked the date.” Now he looked at her. “I get it.”

Clarke shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

His voice was quiet. “You know I do.”

She thought back to the night about a month ago, the last time he’d spoken about his mother before the fiasco at Lincoln’s party. How he’d told her about the night he was at a friend’s drinking and smoking pot and didn’t want to go pick Octavia up at a friend’s house, after she backed out of a sleepover.

How he’d make their mother get out of the house alone, groggy from throat syrup she’d taken thirty minutes before; how he’d gotten the call twenty minutes later.

It was painless, they’d say. She’d most likely had gotten scared by the lights of a car passing on the other lane and turned the wheel, losing control of the car and hitting a tree.

There was no one to blame.

Still, Bellamy went to bed and woke up every day carrying the blame on his shoulders.

“You were drunk and high,” Clarke had said after he told her, reaching over to touch his damp cheek. “If you had gone, it would’ve been you on that tree.”

He’d looked at her then, eyes dark, open. She’d never seen his face so raw and with so much of Bellamy before.

“Don’t you get it? I wish it was.”

She took a while before answering, making sure he was fully paying attention to her words and not just his pain.

“Yeah, but how do you think _she_ would’ve felt?”

Now, Clarke looked down at her own hands, wishing she could avoid this whole conversation and just go to bed. Or take a shower.

“You were a whole country away,” Bellamy spoke, voice still low. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“That doesn’t take away any of it,” she shook her head, blinking back her tears. “It doesn’t take away the pain and it doesn’t make me stop thinking that if I hadn’t followed my mother’s plan and gone to fucking Chicago I-“

His arm snaked around her and she felt herself move closer, dropping her head on his shoulder.

It was like an out of body experience. She could see the two of them sitting side-by-side, as close as two people could be while sitting in very uncomfortable stools.

She could see his fingers tracing the skin of her shoulder, his pained face as he turned and rested his chin over her head.

“It doesn’t go away, but it does get better.” Bellamy said. Fingers circling and circling her skin. She closed her eyes. Hard. “And you’ll hate yourself for it. But that’s why I’m here. That’s why we’re all here. Okay?”

She nodded.

“Don’t let it drag you away. Your pain.” She tried to focus only on his voice, imagining his face and his hands and his touch. “Stay here. Stay here.”

They stayed quiet for a while after that, feeling each other’s heartbeat through their skins. Using their touch to keep both steady and there. Just… There.

When she felt she could breathe again, Clarke moved her face away from his now damp shoulder, looking at all his freckles and brown skin still sporting some tan from the ever so distant summer spent touring, singing in the heat, fucking in the tour bus, holding each other close until they needed to break apart because they were so. Close.

Funny how lately she felt like she couldn’t get him to be close enough. But now was enough. Now was good.

“Thank you,” Clarke said, giving him a small but sincere smile.

He smiled back, passing a hand over her hair. “Don’t be silly.”

“You’re a great brother,” she said, and he frowned. “I know Octavia told you about me being down. And the pudding. And Wells. Thank you for doing this-“ She jolted down her chin, indicating the two of them. “For being here for me.”

“Well, yeah.” Bellamy dropped his hand to the base of her neck. “But Octavia’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, she does.” She was still smiling. It was okay. She didn’t care. He was there, that’s what it mattered. “You did it for her.”

Bellamy shook his head, eyebrows frowned, that pained look back in his face. His hand had slipped up and was now cupping her cheek, his thumb grazing the smooth and damp skin under her eyes.

“No, I did it for you.”

Clarke could feel those same old words coming back to her.

_How did you find me? How did you find me?_

But she pushed them away, because the only thing that mattered was that he did.

 

 


End file.
